


Pennies From Heaven

by Jwink85



Category: South Park
Genre: Abuse, Control, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fear, M/M, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-06-21 23:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15569037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jwink85/pseuds/Jwink85
Summary: Kyle has been in love with Stan for years, but now he's finding that he's changed, and not in a way he thinks he can live with. Darkness has entered their once happy home, and Kyle may have to seek outside help to save himself, but will he be able to? And at what cost?Can Kyle overcome violence, fear, and control to escape and live the life he was meant to have?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have to apologize in advance for this story, I'm afraid. I wrote it awhile ago and never had the intention of really posting it, but I figured what the hell, you know? Why not? Give it a try.
> 
> Anyway, upon rereading it, I'm seeing how dark it is (disturbing, really) and I'm sure the subject matter wouldn't sit well with some people, and that's okay. I just wanted to give you a warning at the beginning bc I don't want to offend anyone (not really, anyway). If violence or abusive relationships are a trigger for you, I would suggest you avoid this story. I didn't write it to glorify the awful things people do to each other; rather, I'm aware that the world contains all kinds of people, and some of them are decidedly unsavory. However, I like the idea that people can rise above their circumstances and ultimately survive, and that's what I feel this story is truly about.

# Haggard, I would not be you for all the world. You have let your doom in by the front door, but it will not depart that way!

-Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn

****

 

_"Every time it rains, it rains...pennies from Heaven...."_

"Sir, can you hear me?"

What Kyle assumed was a flashlight illuminated the car. Instinctively, he cringed away, the movement causing his head to ache terribly. As it was, all he could manage to do was rest his cheek on the steering wheel, willing himself not to pass out from the pain. Vaguely, he could hear voices through the fog filling up his head, along with the soulful melancholy of Billie Holiday.

"How's he look?"

"Pretty bad. I think he's about to pass out."

"Sir, sir. The person that did this to you, where are they now?"

Sluggishly, Kyle tried to speak. The officer bent down closer to try and hear him.

"What did he say? I can't hear a thing over that damn music," an irritable voice asked.

The officer straightened up. His voice was grim when he answered.

"He won't tell me. He says it was an accident."

That was the last thing Kyle heard before darkness enveloped him, and he was gone.

*****

He woke up in a strange place. A foreign, white place that smelled like hand sanitizer and something he couldn't put his finger on, but it was unwelcoming.

Immediately, Kyle was afraid. He didn't know this place; didn't understand why he was there, lying in a white bed with tubes running out of him. Vague aches and pains radiated through him, and a single thought arose, briefly:

_"He won't stay down. What do I do?"_

_"Tie him tighter, stupid. What do you think?"_

And then, like a flash, the thought receded into the place where memories are beyond reach. It did, however, make Kyle hold up his hands to examine his wrists. A plastic bracelet hung loosely around his left wrist, and beneath it he could see deep, angry-looking bruises still beginning to form. His right arm didn't look any better. A needle was inserted into the crook of it, clear fluid pumping slowly into his body. Scratches and bruises were scattered all over his arms, and oxygen, through tubes in his nose, smelled stale and dry as it entered his nostrils.

Ah, yes, the hospital. His old stomping ground. Now he felt stupid for not recognizing it the moment he woke up. Heaven knew he'd been to Hell's Pass enough times to know it like the back of his hand. Luckily, he was in a private room so he didn't have to talk to anyone at the very least.

A chubby nurse bustled into the room at that moment, wearing powder blue scrubs. She smiled when she saw Kyle was awake.

"Hi there," she said, cheerfully. "I'm Kelly. How are you feeling? You were out for quite awhile, hon." She bustled around, checking his vitals, all the while watching him with open concern.

"I feel a little confused," Kyle admitted, faltering a little when he spoke. "Why am I here?"

Now it was Kelly's turn to look confused. "You're here because it looks like someone took a baseball bat and beat the crap out of you." Right after the words left her lips, she looked ashamed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put it quite that way."

Kyle grinned. "Don't apologize, I'm sure I look like shit."

She looked relieved. "Are you in a lot of pain? You are due for another round of your pain meds."

Kyle considered it. He wasn't comfortable by any means but he wasn't in agony either. Besides, his head was already fuzzy enough, he didn't need any help in that regard.

"I'll pass, thanks."

She looked genuinely surprised. "Are you sure? We're pretty sure you were kicked in the back of the head. You needed 10 staples."

"Oh, is that why I feel so funny?" Kyle lifted an arm to gingerly touch the back of his head.

"Well, don't mess with your bandages now! Just leave them be." She took hold of Kyle's arm and laid it gently on the bed. "And no sudden movements. You're going to be dizzy for quite awhile."

"Great, something to look forward to," Kyle remarked, rolling his eyes. Even that minute action made his head throb. Kelly noticed immediately.

"You sure you don't want those pain meds? And I wouldn't recommend rolling your eyes. They're both black."

"Jesus Christ. Would you care to tell me what else is wrong with me?" Kyle asked. "And, yes, dope me up. What the hell, it's a party, right?"

Kelly gave him a look and took a syringe from the tray she'd carried into the room. "Sweet pea, I'm not going to sugar coat it; you're in a pretty bad way. It's horrifying that someone could hurt another human being the way you've been hurt. It just breaks my heart."

"What do you mean?" Kyle asked.

"Well, you couldn't have possibly done all this to yourself," she said, simply. "I mean, that much is obvious."

"It is?" Suddenly Kyle wanted to cry. He didn't even know what to think or feel. His head felt heavy and he felt so confused.

Just then, a man walked in briskly like he owned the place. He didn't even bother to knock.

"I'll take it from here, nurse. You can go now," he said, crisply. His face plainly stated that he didn't expect any objections.

The nurse bristled. "Excuse me? I was just about to give my patient something to help with his pain. And just who are you, anyway?"

"I'm a detective. I'm here to ask your patient a few questions." He stared at her, his expression impassive.

"Is that really necessary right now? Give him time to rest before-"

He cut her off. "It's very important that I ask him these questions as soon as possible. That way the information I'm gathering is more accurate. Besides, I don't have to explain any of this to you. Now if you'll excuse us." He grabbed a chair by the wall and plunked it down next to Kyle's bed. He sat, grabbed a tiny notebook from his breast pocket, and flipped it open.

"How do you know he even wants to talk to you?" She snapped. "Show a little compassion here."

"I am. That's why I want to get his story so I can prosecute the bastard that did this." He turned to Kyle. "Son, is it okay that I ask you a few questions?"

Kyle felt shy in the presence of such a no-nonsense man. "I guess so."

The detective turned to the nurse. "Satisfied?" He asked.

She glared at him. "Fine. Kyle, if you need me, just push the call button next to your bed. I'll be right in." After giving the detective another dirty look she turned on her heel and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her with a snap.

When they were alone, the detective's presence seemed to soften a little. "How you feeling?" He asked.

"Not too good, honestly," Kyle responded.

The detective shifted slightly in his seat. "I'm sorry I interrupted her before she was able to give you anything for the pain, but I need you to have a clear head so I can get some information from you."

Kyle wasn't sure he understood but he nodded anyway. "What's your name?" He asked, groping for something to say.

"I should've told you that already, I apologize. I'm detective Jenkins. Lee Jenkins." He reached out a hand and Kyle delicately shook it. "So, to begin with, do you want to tell me your version of what happened last night?" Jenkins asked.

"I don't remember anything." Kyle said, almost cringing because he didn't have a better answer to give.

Jenkins looked grim. "I suppose that makes sense. You did sustain some pretty serious head injuries. It's not surprising your memory is a little fuzzy. Do you remember anything at all? Even the smallest piece of information would be helpful, even if you think it's unimportant."

Kyle's mind briefly flicked back to the thought he'd had upon waking, the voices discussing tying someone down. Was that someone him? It had to have been, right? Or was he just crazier than he thought?

"Well, I do remember hearing people talking about tying someone up," he said, timidly.

The detective's eyes narrowed. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Kyle shrugged. "Other than that, my mind is a blank."

"So you don't remember who said what, essentially."

"I-I guess." Kyle looked away, ashamed.

Out in the hallway, he suddenly heard an angry voice.

"Where is he? I want to see my boyfriend. I want to make sure he's okay!"

Instinctively, Kyle began to sweat. It was Stan. Instead of feeling relieved, he suddenly felt more afraid. Using his legs, he pushed himself deeper into the pillows, willing himself to disappear. He could feel Jenkins watching him closely.

Stan burst into the room, his eyes wild and his coat hanging open like he'd thrown it on in a hurry. A five o'clock shadow made his face look more predatory than usual. He strode over to the bed.

"What happened? Tell me. Who did this to you?" He was frantic, clutching the bed rail and barking questions into Kyle's face. His eyes flicked over to detective Jenkins. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Detective Jenkins. I was asking Kyle a few questions before you, um, decided to grace us with your presence."

Stan's face turned red. "Detective? Kyle doesn't need to talk to any detective. Why are you even here?"

"Stan, please..." Kyle said, trying to placate him. A severe look from Stan shut him up quickly.

Jenkins gave Stan a cool look. "Have you even looked at him? I mean, he didn't get this way by falling down the stairs."

"What are you implying here?" Stan asked, his voice steely.

"I think it's pretty obvious what I'm implying. Now, if you don't mind -"

"Actually, I do mind. Kyle doesn't want to talk to you. Get out."

Jenkins stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Stan repeated himself, but this time he slowed down his words like he was talking to a petulant, somewhat stupid, child.

"Kyle doesn't want to talk to you. Get out."

Jenkins looked at Kyle. "And how do you feel about all of this?"

"I, uh, well --" Kyle stammered, lost for words and terrified of doing the wrong thing. Stan grabbed his hand, seemingly out of concern, but quickly began squeezing it hard enough to make the bones grind together. He was sly enough to do it in such a way that Jenkins wouldn't see.

"Can't you see he's confused and in pain? Why don't you just leave us alone." Stan's grip on Kyle's hand became tighter. Amazingly, the pain didn't register on his face. He had been trained well for just these types of situations. Fighting his confusion, the fear, and the pain, he defaulted to his natural state of total obedience.

"I don't need to talk to you. I'm fine."

Jenkins didn't seem surprised, but compassion flooded his eyes. "Are you sure that's how you really feel?"

"Stop badgering him. He already told you what he wants." Stan snapped.

Slowly, Jenkins turned his gaze on Stan, his eyes losing their softness and becoming cold. "I'm not talking to you, sir. I'm talking to Kyle. The last time I checked, he is an adult and is capable of speaking for himself. Got me?"

Staring daggers at him, Stan squeezed Kyle's hand again, harder than before. Kyle almost winced but he caught himself just in time. "Fine. Kyle? What do you have to say?"

Kyle gazed placidly at the IV in his arm. Dully, he repeated what he'd said before, that he was fine and had nothing to say. Stan's grip on his hand slackened, but only slightly. A perverse surge of joy rushed through him. He had pleased Stan.

Sighing heavily, the detective got to his feet while fishing something out of his pocket. He slipped a glossy card onto Kyle's nightstand. "Well, if you ever do feel like talking, there's my card. You can reach me anytime, day or night." He paused. "I'd be particularly interested in hearing more about those voices threatening to tie you up for struggling." He looked pointedly at Stan, his eyebrows cocked, gave Kyle's shoulder a gentle squeeze, and left the room.

The murderous look Stan gave Kyle after the detective left was enough to make him start to cry uncontrollably. Why had he said anything? He hadn't meant anything by it, the memories were like dreams; benign and unimportant. But now Stan thought he'd been telling lies, probably to gain attention, no doubt.

"Who was tying you up, huh, sweetie?" Stan asked, his voice dripping acid. He lifted up one of Kyle's skeletal arms to appraise the ligature marks marring his pale skin. "Poor kiddo, somebody really did a number on you. Now what could you have done to deserve such savage treatment, huh?" Ruthlessly, he slammed Kyle's arm down, pinning his wrist against the bed, digging his fingernails into the throbbing bruises. Kyle screamed. Stan slapped him.

"Shut up. I don't want that fuck head coming back and asking more stupid questions. Just tell me honestly, what did you do to deserve the beating? If you're honest everything can go back to normal."

Kyle wracked his brain for the right answer. He couldn't remember anything but Stan wouldn't accept that as an excuse, of course. Finally, he decided to play it safe and go with something simple and to the point.

"I-I resisted when I was being restrained." He offered, stammering. He looked down at his hands.

Stan sighed. "I was so disappointed, baby. I was ready to take you as soon as Christophe slipped your collar around your neck, and then you balked at the thigh cuffs." Idly, he stroked Kyle's cheek. "You must have a mental block or something we'll have to tame out of you."

Kyle flushed at the thought of himself lying prostrate, his thighs splayed apart by the black cuffs. It was almost like he was an offering for Stan and Christophe to devour. Even though his neck was bare he could almost feel the leather collar biting into his skin.

"I'm thinking that as soon as you're discharged we'll have to train you on the leash again, just to reassert your position in all of this," Stan murmured, a cruel glint creeping into his eyes.

Kyle could feel the color draining from his face. "No, please. I'll be good. I won't fight you anymore, I promise. I was just scared." He pleaded.

Stan stroked his back. "Don't worry, Christophe will take care of your fears. He'll break you down to the point where you won't need to feel fear at all. You'll only feel the wonderful things we'll be doing to your tight little body. Isn't that what you want?"

With effort, Kyle managed to sit up. "No, please, Stan. Don't let Christophe train me alone. You don't know what he does when you're away, he-"

"I know very well what he does, Kyle. I've seen the videos. I actually admire his work."

Any protests Kyle might have had died on his lips. Video tapes. Stan knew? He'd seen? All of it? Silent tears started slipping down Kyle's face again. There was a knock at the door then. Kelly poked her head in, saw that Kyle was crying and was instantly at his side.

"Oh, no, what happened, sweetie?" She laid a soft, cool hand on Kyle's forearm.

"It was that fucking detective. He got Kyle all riled up and anxious, and he's already in so much pain." Stan shook his head with well-orchestrated disgust.

Kelly frowned. "Would you like something to help you sleep, honey? You've been through so much today."

As much as Kyle didn't want to be coherent enough to deal with his horrible reality, he also didn't want to be continuously doped up so Stan could lead him around by the nose.

"No, I'm fine, really-"

"Give him the meds. I have power of attorney over him. His condition makes it so he can't properly advocate for himself, so what I say goes. Besides, he needs to sleep so he can start to heal. Right?" He tenderly stroked Kyle's arm in an exaggerated display of affection. Kyle suddenly felt nauseous.

Kelly looked momentarily confused and then took a loaded syringe from a tray. Slowly she fed it into Kyle's IV and almost instantly Kyle was gone; dark waters passing over his head and swallowing him completely.


	2. Chapter 2

Shards of sunlight filtered through the slightly parted blinds, waking Kyle up. His sleep had been light, but he still felt refreshed. He always felt rejuvenated when they were staying in the cabin by the canal.

Rising from his bed he took care not to hit his head on the ceiling. The room he stayed in was on the top floor of the house, where the roof sloped inward on either side, coming to a right angle. He threw his old quilt across the brass bed, not really worrying if it was neat, because everyone was in a better mood at the canal. Kyle rarely felt afraid there.

Slipping quickly into a pair of board shorts and a pale yellow polo, Kyle ran downstairs, through the living room and out onto the porch to look at the water. He never looked at the clock in the morning; the tide would tell him what time it was as well as any clock. The water was lapping quietly about 5 or 6 feet away from the end of the dock, so it was probably around 9 am.

Kyle breathed in the wonderful morning air of the canal, resplendent with salt and pine trees and the faint smell of the flowers hanging in pots. Giddily, he flexed his feet on the sun-soaked boards of the porch and thought about everything he wanted to do that day. He could go digging for clams, check the crab pots, maybe talk Stan into going into town for dinner...

"What are you doing up so early?" Kyle turned to see Stan in the doorway, clad only in boxers and his hair mussed. He yawned hugely and seemed to be shying away from the bright morning sunlight. Kyle smiled and walked towards him. Wrapping his arms around Stan's waist he peered up into his face.

"Oh, I was just planning my day. I was thinking maybe we could go into town later, if you were willing."

Stan patted Kyle on the head. "Is that so? Well, I actually had some plans for today already set up."

Anxiety prickled at the back of Kyle's neck out of nowhere. He brushed it away and tried to sound nonchalant. "Oh? What kind of plans, huh?"

Disentangling himself from Kyle's arms, Stan walked across the deck and sat down at one of the tables. He made sure to choose a seat in the shade, Kyle noticed. "Christophe is going to be stopping by for lunch," he stated mildly.

Kyle's heart dropped a little. Christophe? That wouldn't do. Whenever he stopped by Stan was occupied for hours, and Kyle always turned into a third wheel. Besides, he wasn't sure he liked the way Christophe looked at him when he thought Kyle wouldn't notice. It made him feel...vulnerable, as if he were stark naked and Christophe could see everything; all of his secrets.

"You know, Christophe has been dropping by a lot lately, I've noticed." He tried to sit down close to Stan as casually as possible.

"Yeah, so?" Stan stretched and gave Kyle a sideways glance.

"No reason, really. I was just wondering why he has so much free time. I mean, he does have a job, right?"

Stan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yeah, of course he does. He hates it. It isn't what he really wants to be doing. He's told us all of this before, Kyle. Weren't you listening?" His tone was tinged with disapproval.

Kyle could feel himself starting to flush. To be honest, he usually checked out when Christophe started going on about his personal affairs. What did Kyle care? He wasn't Christophe's friend. If anything, he was resentful of him monopolizing Stan's time. Ordinarily he just sipped glass after glass of red wine while cuddling close to Stan, his hand lingering suggestively on his thigh.

Stan cocked an eyebrow at Kyle's silence, sighed, and stood up from the table. "Have lunch ready by 1, okay?" He walked towards the house.

Kyle bristled. "Excuse me? Who said I was cooking for your company? If you're going to be busy with him I figured I'd go clam digging or something."

Stan turned around and stared at him. "Think again. You're going to eat with us and you'll be cooking as well. Got it?"

"What difference does it make? Why do I have to participate in any of this?" Kyle argued. He didn't like how bossy Stan was becoming, especially when Christophe was involved.

Stan ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. "Christophe requested that you be here today. He was disappointed when you didn't eat with us the last time he came to dinner."

"That is so bizarre. Why would he care whether I was here or not? Doesn't that seem kind of strange to you?"

"I would think you'd be flattered he'd even notice you," Stan snapped. "It's not like you add anything to the conversation with your sullen attitude."

"Well, if that's how you feel then there's no way I'm sticking around for this bullshit. I'm out of here." Kyle turned on his heel and had every intention of going into the house to get his car keys. He'd just go into town by himself and actually have a nice time not having to deal with Stan's insufferable friend.

Without warning, he felt a strong grip on his arm that spun him around. Stan's angry face was suddenly inches away from his own. Kyle winced at the ferocity with which Stan was squeezing his arm. He'd never grabbed him like that before.

"I am so tired of you arguing with every goddamn thing I say, Kyle." Stan seethed. "Is it really so hard to just do what I tell you? Seriously?" He shook Kyle, his fingers still digging into his flesh.

"Stan, I-I'm sorry. I didn't know this was so important to you. I'll stay, if you really want me to." Kyle looked pleadingly into Stan's eyes, hoping he'd see how badly he was scaring him.

Stan seemed to come to his senses after seeing the look on Kyle's face. He let go, looking shaken at what he'd just done. "So, uh, lunch at 1 is okay with you?" He averted his eyes, his face red.

"Sure, yeah. I'll grill the salmon I bought yesterday." Kyle muttered, turning away and going into the house. He had a sudden need to be alone, and the thought of being near Stan at the moment made him feel faintly ill.

***

"More wine, you guys?" Kyle tried to put on a cheery smile, but even he wasn't buying the farce, and he was giving it everything he had.

"I'd love some," Christophe held up his glass and gave it a little shake. Swallowing his annoyance, Kyle topped him off. Stan just waved his hand when Kyle offered him the bottle. He wasn't the type to become inebriated over lunch.

Kyle filled up his own glass, sat back, and took a deep drink of the wine that complemented the salmon perfectly. Even though he wasn't in the best of moods, he wouldn't forgive himself for putting on an unsatisfactory spread. Resting his head against the back of his chair, he looked up into the sky and saw the evening star just beginning to peer through the late afternoon haze. Lunch had very quickly turned into an early dinner, as Christophe had insisted on lingering over his meal and numerous libations.

With no real interest, Kyle tried to focus on what Christophe was blathering on about now. He had regaled them with stories of his travels all afternoon, and Kyle wasn't sure if his incessant chatter was making him nauseous or the four glasses of wine he'd had to drink.

"Well, I just can't seem to decide what I really want to do, you know? I mean, I tried starting my own business and that was a bust...but, maybe I just need to try again with a different product. Who even knows?" Christophe took a long drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly, the gray cloud wafting away to settle over the tide that was quickly coming in.

Kyle loved this time of day, when the green water rushed back in, its salty drifts lapping at the rock wall surrounding their neighbors' property. The orange spill of the setting sun poured across the water's surface, almost like glaze coating a piece of pottery. The scenery was nearly enough to distract him from their company, but not quite.

"Well, if you need a little start-up money, I do have some savings I could contribute. I've been looking to invest in something, you know, just to keep myself occupied. I can only bum around this place for so long before you start losing your mind." Stan looked around their deck, gardens, and slope of private beach like he was looking at the yard of some backwoods penitentiary.

The idea of investing their money in anything Christophe-related made Kyle sit up and take notice. Enduring these insufferable calls of his were one thing, but throwing money his way was where Kyle drew the line.

"Stan, will you help me clear the dishes so I can bring out the dessert?" He punctuated his request with narrowed eyes and a hand on Stan's knee, squeezing lightly.

"Give me a moment here, Kyle. Can't you see we're discussing something?" Stan didn't try to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Turning away, he jumped right back into his talk of money and investments.

"Fine, whatever. I'll just do it myself." Kyle stood abruptly and began gathering plates and silverware, rage bubbling up inside his stomach. Somewhere between the deck and the kitchen he decided to do something dramatic. If Stan wasn't going to listen willingly, he'd make him listen. Grabbing another stack of dishes, Kyle nonchalantly brushed against his wine glass on the edge of the table and sent it toppling to the ground. The subsequent crash successfully disrupted Stan and Christophe's conversation.

"Oh, goodness, how clumsy am I?" Kyle feigned distress at the broken glass. "Stan, will you take the rest of these dishes in while I grab the broom? We wouldn't want our guest to step on glass or anything." He smiled at Christophe who seemed amused, if anything. Stan was staring daggers at Kyle, who purposely ignored his wrath.

"Sure, fine. Sorry, Christophe. I'll just be a second." Stan stood and gathered the remaining dishes, taking care not to step on scattered glass shards.

Christophe smiled and flicked his cigarette butt onto the beach. "Take your time. I'll just enjoy the view." The fact that he was staring at Kyle instead of the water was lost on Stan, but it caused a shiver to go up Kyle's spine. He hurried after Stan.

In the kitchen, Stan set down the plates he was carrying with unnecessary force. Kyle ignored this and instead made it very clear that they would not be investing in any of Christophe's business ventures.

"He's weird, Stan. I don't trust him and I don't want you throwing our money away on one of his frivolous plans."

"I just don't get what you have against him, Kyle. No matter how rude you are to him he's always nothing but friendly to you. What is your deal, dude?" Stan stared at him, genuinely confused.

Kyle turned away, suddenly embarrassed. "He makes me uncomfortable. The way he looks at me when you aren't paying attention..."

"What? Looks at you? Are you serious?"

"Well, yes. I mean, you're right, he's friendly, but he's friendly in a creepy way." Kyle blushed, knowing he sounded ridiculous.

"Oh, my god, are you for real? You don't like him because he's too friendly? Do you know how paranoid you sound right now?" Stan grabbed a plate and furiously started scrubbing it in the sink, the sound of the water hopefully drowning out their increasingly loud conversation.

"I'm not paranoid. I'm telling you that he makes me feel uncomfortable and this is how you react? You're unbelievable. I mean, shouldn't you be on my side here? I'm your boyfriend!"

"Christ, don't try to make yourself out to be this damsel in distress, Kyle. You always pull this crap whenever I try to get close to anyone but you."

"What the hell are you talking about? I've always encouraged you to have as many friends as you want! You're the one who insists on being reclusive." Kyle sputtered indignantly.

Stan dropped a glass he was washing into the sink and grabbed a towel. He started drying his hands. "Oh, really? Remember when Cartman and butters would invite us out practically every weekend? You always refused to go! After awhile they just stopped asking, and big surprise, now we never hear from them."

"Oh, like hanging out with Cartman is something I should clear my calendar for. You know I can't stand him!"

"Okay, well what about Wendy or Tweek and Craig or, hell, even my parents? You never want to socialize with anyone! Your refusal to see anyone is getting out of hand, and when I basically have to force you to go along with my plans, you do stupid shit like break glasses to screw everything up!"

Kyle flushed. "You're crazy. That was just an accident."

"Right, an accident. Okay." Stan snorted. He ran a hand through his hair, the tell tale sign that he was nearly at his breaking point. Kyle tried to back pedal, desperate to make sense of the situation.

"Look, I don't mind you having friends, really. I just don't think--"

Just then, Christophe stuck his head through the patio door, interrupting them. "Hey Stan, I'm gonna get out of here. I think I've worn out my welcome."

Kyle could feel himself flushing even more. So he'd heard them. He couldn't very well be surprised. They were loud as hell when they really got going. Stan gave him another of his "are you satisfied?" looks and tried to placate Christophe. "No, dude, you don't have to go. Seriously, everything is fine. Right, Kyle?"

"Uh, right, yeah. I was just about to serve dessert. Please stay." He looked away as tears threatened the corners of his eyes. He felt stupid. Why was he starting to cry? Sometimes he couldn't stand himself. He hurried over to the cabinet and got out the coffee.

"You guys go on outside and enjoy the sunset. I'm going to brew some coffee and slice the cake. I'll be out shortly. Oh, and mind the glass on the deck. I still need to sweep it up."

***

It was hours later when Kyle awoke, bleary-eyed and disoriented. Icy moonlight fell through the windows, across the bed and came to rest on Stan's face, scrunched up and mashed deeply into his pillow. Through the haze of a burgeoning hangover, Kyle tried to remember the evening after serving the cake and having that scene with Stan in the kitchen.

Ah, yes. Stan and Christophe had decided to have a bonfire on the beach and watch the moon rise over the water, its silver reflection coin-like on the waves. Kyle hadn't been entirely opposed to this idea, except he was still grappling with Stan's accusations and Christophe's unsettling side long glances in his direction. He'd kept his mouth shut, though. Clearly no one was going to listen to him at this gathering. As the flames devoured the dry wood in the fire pit, Kyle sat off to the side feeling very much like a put upon captive of Stan and Christophe's society.

At this point in the evening, Stan and Christophe had switched from drinking wine to guzzling beer. As their voices started to slur and the moon climbed higher among the stars, Kyle began to nod off.

"Anyway, yeah, if you can come up with an idea, I can provide a little of the seed money." Stan was saying, sleepily. Christophe was working on his second pack of cigarettes, the butts of which were scattered among the oyster shells and rocks of the beach, Kyle noticed with irritation.

"You know, you never told me how you came to have all this money, now that I think about it." Christophe remarked idly.

"I didn't? It's actually pretty crazy, " Stan replied. "I don't know how well you remember my dad, but he's always getting himself into stupid shit."

"I seem to recall that." Christophe smirked, bringing his beer can to his lips. He caught Kyle peering at him across the fire and winked lazily. Stan continued talking, not seeming to notice the exchange.

"Anyway, long story short, he ended up getting hit by a bus when I was in high school and the city paid him a shit ton in the settlement. My mother managed to squirrel some of it away and had someone competent invest it for her. She set up trusts for my sister and I." He shrugged nonchalantly. "I actually still work here and there and neither Kyle or I live beyond our means. We're doing pretty well, all things considered."

"Huh, you never wanted to bum around the world and see what there is to see, I take it." Christophe said.

"Nah, but I wouldn't mind having a business. I mean, sure, I went to college and I could go be a boring-ass accountant and be swallowed up by a giant conglomerate, but where's the fun in that? Why work my ass off to make someone else's ideas come to life? That's just fucking stupid as far as I'm concerned."

Kyle was glad it was dark enough so that no one could see him rolling his eyes. This was the first time Kyle had ever heard Stan talk like this. If anything, he'd developed this weird slacker surfer boy persona since they started spending more time at the canal house. Many afternoons Kyle found him lazing away the hours lying in the sun on the dock, or puttering around their property looking for things to fix, always with a beer in hand and wearing swim trunks. For the longest time that had seemed to satisfy him, and Kyle too. What was changing here?

Kyle couldn't remember anything beyond that point in the evening. No doubt he'd drifted off and Stan had helped him to bed. He glanced at Stan snoring away and felt raw tenderness well up inside of him. Kyle just wanted Stan to be happy and most of the time it seemed he was, but this Christophe business was definitely causing friction between them.

Groggily, Kyle threw the covers aside and slipped out of bed, intent on using the bathroom. While walking by the window, a flash of light coming from the beach caught his attention. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Kyle couldn't seem to make out what it was. Maybe in their inebriated state Christophe and Stan had neglected to put out the bonfire completely? That was pretty typical behavior when they were together.

Sighing, Kyle threw on his robe, the bathroom momentarily forgotten. Making his way downstairs, Kyle took care not to bump into anything, thankful that the moonlight was strong enough to provide a little assistance. It washed across the deck as Kyle stepped into the night, the sky above him resplendent with stars. The milky way arched over the house and away into eternity.

Kyle shivered against the damp nighttime chill as he walked towards the beach. "Of course I'd end up having to clean up after those two," Kyle muttered. "I swear to god -"

Suddenly, something grabbed Kyle's hand, throwing him off balance. He yelped in fear and struggled to get away.

"Kyle, relax! It's me!" Christophe's face came into focus. Apparently he hadn't gone home but opted to sleep on a deck chair close to the dying fire instead.

Kyle's heart thumped painfully in his chest, and very quickly his fear turned into anger. He yanked his hand away from Christophe's and really had to restrain himself from punching him across the face. "What the hell are you still doing here? You scared the shit out of me!"

Christophe smiled and leaned back into the chair, his hands behind his head. "I was feeling a little too wasted to drive home so I decided to stick around. Aren't you proud of me? I was being responsible."

Kyle crossed his arms. "The truly responsible thing to have done was not get wasted in the first place."

"Well, you live you learn, right? I'm just lucky I have you around to teach me, aren't I?"

"Whatever. Not that it matters to me, but why are you sleeping out here instead of in the house? Are you some kind of animal or something?"

"Oh, is that an invitation to join you and Stan, Kyle?" Christophe asked, laughing. He clearly meant it as a joke, but Kyle couldn't help feeling uneasy at the look in Christophe's eyes. There wasn't amusement in them, just an inscrutable lack of emotion.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying, Christophe. Anyway, I just came out to check on the fire and since you're sleeping next to it like some weird hobo raccoon, I'll just be going back to bed now." Kyle turned to walk back into the house when Christophe reached out and grabbed his upper arm.

 _God, I am so sick of being grabbed today_ , Kyle thought. He tried to shake his arm out of Christophe's grasp. "Back off, dude. It's cold out here and I'm tired." Stubbornly, Kyle refused to show how scared he was becoming.

Christophe's hold on his arm became unbearably strong, causing Kyle to squeak in protest. "You're cold, huh?" Christoph asked. "Why don't I warm you up then?"

"Cut it out, Christophe. I'm not in the mood for your stupid crap!" Kyle kept trying to get away even though Christophe was clearly too strong for him to break his hold. "Just stop!"

Christophe started laughing and grabbed Kyle's other arm, turning him and forcing Kyle to face him directly. "Just as I thought, you're as weak now as when we were kids. It's actually kind of cute."

Kyle blushed furiously. "What the hell are you even talking about? Let me go!" Surely Stan could hear him yelling. Why wasn't he coming outside to see what was wrong?

"You know, I'm getting a little tired of how unfriendly you are, Kyle. Like, really tired of it." Christophe shook Kyle slightly, not enough to really hurt him, but enough to rattle him. "I'm so fucking nice to you and you just continue acting like a little bitch. Now, why is that? Huh?" This time he shook Kyle a little harder, making his teeth chatter.

Kyle just stared at Christophe, unable to understand what was happening. How had he gotten here, on this deck, being shaken like a rag doll by a person who was clearly a psychopath? He bit his lip to hold back tears when Christophe shook him again, this time violently enough to give him the beginnings of a dull headache.

"Well, are you going to answer me?" Christophe asked mildly, like he was inquiring about the weather.

Afraid of being shaken again, Kyle cleared his throat and groped for something to say. Rationally he knew he didn't owe this asshole any explanation but Kyle was at a severe disadvantage. He'd underestimated just how dangerous Christophe was.

"I-I don't know. You make me..." He trailed off, feeling ashamed. He tried to look away but Christophe forced him to look into his face. Dark eyes, darker even than the nighttime waters of the retreating canal stared into him; through him. Dark facial hair made Christophe handsome and terrifying all at once.

"Make you what? I'm asking for a fucking explanation here. Keep going." Christophe's hands felt like they were crushing Kyle's bones.

"You scare me, okay?! I hate the way you look at me!" Kyle screamed, tears streaking down his face. Fresh shame washed over him, not just for the tears, but because Christophe  had forced those humiliating words out of his mouth.

Christophe seemed delighted at Kyle's confession; positively elated. He released Kyle's arms, ready to catch him when Kyle stumbled forward and fell into his chest. Tenderly, he stroked Kyle's hair, which frightened Kyle more than Christophe's earlier aggression.

"God, I love how innocent you are," Christophe practically purred against Kyle's ear. "You can't begin to understand how attractive it makes you. I never have more fun than when I'm ruining someone." His hand continued to rub Kyle's hair, threading its way through the auburn strands. He clenched his fingers around it and tugged roughly, forcing Kyle's head to tilt back.

"I think we should work harder to get along, you and I. Especially since we'll be spending so much time together from now on." Christophe said.

"What do you mean?" Kyle whispered, dreading the answer.

Unceremoniously, Christophe released his hold on Kyle, causing him to stumble back, almost losing his footing. "I'm moving in with you guys."

"You've got to be kidding me," Kyle croaked, rubbing the back of his head. "There's no way Stan would let you move in without asking me first."

"Think again, Kyle. When Stan wakes up from his Ambien coma you should ask him yourself." Christophe pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it, the orange tip seeming to float in the air.

Kyle stared at him blankly. Ambien? Stan?

Christophe laughed at his expression. "Let me guess, you didn't know Stan was taking Ambien to help him sleep? So, it stands to reason that he wouldn't ask you before letting someone move in. Right?" He exhaled a cloud of smoke in Kyle's direction.

Kyle couldn't stand to look at Christophe for another second. This revelation was more than he could bear. Feeling terribly helpless, Kyle turned and ran from Christophe. He didn't stop running until he was in the house, up the stairs, and in front of the toilet where he promptly threw up the contents of his stomach, hateful tears falling down his cheeks.


	3. Chapter 3

"So, how have you been, Kyle? It's been awhile since you dropped by."

Butters was looking fresh and upbeat despite the oppressive humidity of late afternoon. He seated himself with casual grace across the table from Kyle, his large blue eyes watching him closely. Though he hadn't asked a particularly loaded question, Kyle was having difficulty finding an answer. The silence stretched between them, as sluggish as the hot breezes ruffling their hair.

"Please, have a little of the hummus. It's a great recipe I just found on Pinterest." Butters urged, sliding the dish closer to Kyle. A bead of moisture sparkled on the side of Butters' wine glass as he picked it up and took a short sip. Kyle found himself focusing intently on his delicate linen shirt and pale yellow slacks rather than the question he had asked. What was there to say, really? So much had changed in such a short span of time.

Looking around at the lush gardens unfolding around them and the peaceful green water curling around the shells and rocks scattering the beach practically at their feet, Kyle started to unclench for the first time in weeks. He was surprised to discover that, even though talking about the changes in his life was overwhelming, that didn't stop him from wanting to try.

"Kyle," Butters said gently, "is something wrong? You can tell me, buddy. I'm here to listen."

Kyle smiled at him with gratitude. They hadn't been particularly close when they were children, but Kyle had to admit that butters had grown up to be a very self-reliant, kind-hearted man. A man he was proud to call his friend, especially in times of crisis. Not that Kyle was overly fond of Butters' choice in mates.

As if summoned on cue, loud rustling and shouting could suddenly be heard emanating from inside the lovely beach house Butters shared with Cartman, a person Kyle was not especially proud to call his friend.

"Oh, Eric's home!" Butter's chirped, standing to receive the rotund young man practically crashing through the patio doors. "How was your day, hon?"

"Is it asking too much to have a drink ready for me when I step into my own house?!" Cartman thundered. Sweating profusely and straining the confines of a mint green polo shirt, Cartman was the very picture of the self-made man; self-assured, brash, and commanding. Kyle picked up his wine glass and took a long drink, he was going to need alcohol to deal with this situation.

"I'm sorry, darling. I was distracted by company." Butters said, gesturing towards Kyle. Kyle nodded his head by way of greeting. Cartman's eyes narrowed significantly as he tugged at the collar of his shirt, almost ripping the fabric apart.

"Goddamn heat has me losing my mind." Cartman pulled up a chair and sat down heavily. "Are you going to get me that drink or not?" He barked at Butters, who scurried away into the house without another word. Shifting his eyes to Kyle, Cartman addressed him gruffly. "So, what's your deal?" He pulled the plate of hummus and toast points close and dug in with hungry ferocity.

"I was out running some errands and decided to drop by and see Butters." Kyle answered tightly. "It's as simple as that."

Stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth, Cartman snorted and sprayed crumbs everywhere. "Don't jack with me, dude. Butters has invited you over tons of times and you've never accepted. You have to have an angle here so what is it?"

Irritation was creeping up inside of Kyle, but before he could bite back with a retort, Butters stepped out onto the patio, carrying a tumbler. The amber fluid and glass caught the sunlight for a moment, dazzling Kyle's eyes.

"Here Eric, an old-fashioned just the way you like it." Butters cooed, handing him the glass and sitting back down. Cartman grunted what Kyle assumed was a thanks. "Now, where were we?" Butters smiled at Kyle, who proceeded to finish his wine in one gulp. Now he really needed a buzz, what with Cartman staring daggers at him.

"I was just asking Kyle what his agenda is, that's all." Cartman said, between gulps of old-fashioned. "I mean, we never hear from him yet here he is. It just kind of makes me wonder."

"Now, Eric, don't be like that. Kyle is our friend and he wants to talk. Don't be so mean." Butters slapped Cartman lightly on the hand, chastising him. Cartman knocked back the rest of his drink and rolled his eyes at his partner. "Don't you just think it's a little bit odd that, suddenly, out of nowhere, Kyle just shows up to talk? Usually we couldn't surgically remove him from Stan's si-"

He stopped speaking mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up with glee. How Kyle hated that look, the look of a light bulb being illuminated; a realization. "Let me guess," he continued, "there's trouble in paradise?"

Butters looked confused and a bit anxious, but he too glanced at Kyle anticipating his answer. Kyle felt his face becoming warm. "Well, I don't know if you could call it "trouble", per se." Even to his own ears he sounded uncertain and foolish. This was like blood in the water for Cartman, who looked like he was starting to enjoy Kyle's visit.

"Would this have anything to do with that Christophe bum who moved in with you guys?"

Kyle could only stare at him with shock and disbelief. How did he know?

"That weirdo is working at one of my stores, part-time." Cartman said, answering a question no one asked. "During one of my rounds I heard him talking about the pair of rich chumps that had taken him in. Through a little deductive reasoning, I figured it had to have been you guys. So, how's that working out for you?" His cat-that-ate-the-canary grin infuriated Kyle.

"Christophe? You mean The Mole?" Butters asked. "Eric, you didn't tell me he was working for you."

"Yeah, I was getting ready to have him fired but I decided to keep him around." Cartman smirked. "I knew it would pay off once I heard where he was living. Baby, another old-fashioned." He handed Butters the glass and once again, Butters disappeared into the house.

"So, what, is Stan screwing him? Is that the issue here?" Cartman asked.

Kyle finally found his voice. "You know what? Fuck you, Cartman. You have no idea what the hell you're even talking about."

"Ah, so he IS screwing him," Cartman said without missing a beat. "What are you going to do about that?"

"Nothing!" Kyle erupted. "You want to know why? Because you're completely wrong, so shut the fuck up about it!"

"If I'm wrong then why are you getting so mad, Kyle?" Cartman practically purred, loading hummus onto another piece of toast. Kyle felt like slamming his face into the dish, then he could eat the hummus all at once. Somehow, he managed to maintain rigid control. Butters reappeared with yet another old-fashioned. Kyle imagined throwing the entire drink in Cartman's face. Control, he chanted to himself, must maintain control.

"I'm becoming slightly irritated because you're wrong, Cartman." Kyle responded with as much dignity as he could muster. He had to save face because, after all, what Cartman was saying was true, unfortunately.

A nasty memory reared its head, as such thoughts often do, with uncaring and cutting clarity. Though Kyle tried to push it back down it refused to go away. Kyle had awoken recently in the middle of the night, thirsty and disoriented because he had once again fallen asleep after too many glasses of wine. Seeking the kitchen, he had tiptoed past Christophe's door, and had heard Stan's voice softly from within, moaning and breathless. A feeling had passed through Kyle that was indescribable. Choking back tears, he had fled back to his room where he'd spent a sleepless night; relieved to see the sun peeking through his curtains when dawn finally broke hours later.

Tears were burning his eyes again at the memory. "Please," he said softly, "let's talk about something else."

"Of course," Butters said, compassion in his voice. He quickly refilled Kyle's wine glass. "Please, Kyle, try to eat something. You're looking a little pale there."

Kyle had absolutely no appetite these days. All of the upheaval in his life had stolen it away, leaving him feeling disoriented and beaten down. He wasn't sure how to cope with everything so he had found himself in a situation of stasis; complete stillness. He was so bogged down with emotion he felt completely helpless. To please Butters more than anything else, he took a bright red strawberry from a bowl of mixed fruit and took a tiny bite. The sweetness of it almost startled him but he chewed diligently.

Butters seemed to be groping for conversation while Cartman simply watched Kyle, grinning and stuffing his face. Kyle couldn't even muster up the energy to be irritated with him. His life was a disaster, he could admit that. Let Cartman gloat if he wanted, what did it really matter at this point?

"Oh, I know!" Butters said, suddenly. "I was attending a function with my book club the other night and guess who I ran into?"

"Who?" Kyle asked, dully.

"Well, we went to this little hole in the wall piano bar in Denver, you know, the type of place that's dark and intimate. The drinks were a little expensive but I figured, you know, I don't get out much so why n-"

"Just get to the damn point! Christ!" Cartman interrupted, shoving a spoonful of fruit into his mouth.

"Anyway," Butters continued, giving Cartman a frosty look, "the piano started playing this slow, romantic number and who should walk out on the stage and start singing a song to bring a tear to your eye?"

He waited, practically beaming at Kyle, seemingly waiting for an answer. Cartman cleared his throat abruptly, making both of them jump.

"Kenny! It was Kenny!" Butters crowed, polishing off the bit of wine left in his glass. "Isn't that just the darndest thing you ever heard, Kyle?"

"Well, I suppose." Kyle managed to say, genuinely surprised. "I haven't heard from Kenny in years. He just sort of fell off the grid after high school."

"Became a junkie loser, you mean." Cartman said snidely. "I'm honestly amazed he hasn't overdosed by now."

"Eric! The things you say!" Butters exclaimed, looking shocked like Cartman didn't say off-color, cruel shit every day of his life.

"What? It's the truth. How the hell did he manage to get a job anywhere with his track record?"

"He was singing?" Kyle interjected. "I remember him taking lessons back when we were kids but I didn't know he intended to make a career out of it." He gazed at the horizon, where a sailboat drifted lazily by. "How did he sound?"

"Oh, he sounded wonderful. The girls in my book club and I were in heaven. Gosh, it was like listening to Michael Buble and Frank Sinatra rolled into one. I wouldn't be surprised if we heard Kenny on the radio one day." Butters gushed, eliciting a dirty look from Cartman. "Maybe you and Stan could go and visit him, Kyle. You know, reminisce about old times. Maybe that would bring you closer together. What do you think?"

Inwardly, Kyle was rolling his eyes so hard he practically sprained them, but on the outside he patted Butter's hand and smiled. "Sure, why not? What did you say the name of this place was?"

"Oh, gosh, let me think. Wait!" Butters smiled and reached for a bag resting on the table. Out poured books and pens. A little stack of matchbooks plopped out next to the plate of hummus. Rifling through them, Butters plucked one up and handed it across the table to Kyle.

"The Mortimer Club?" Kyle said, inspecting the swirling silver letters and the tiny martini glass adorning the matchbook.

"Yes, it was lovely. It's in kind of a bad neighborhood, but it's worth it. We've already set up our next club meeting there next month."

"Dude, why do you have a bunch of matchbooks? You don't smoke." Cartman asked.

"Oh, I just collect them because they're fun, Eric."

"Christ alive." Cartman rolled his eyes and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "As fascinating as all of this is, I have to make a call. If you two fags will excuse me."

"Always a pleasure, Cartman." Kyle muttered, turning the matchbook over in his hand. Kenny was back, and relatively close by? Suddenly, Kyle had a deep, painful yearning for his old friend.

Butters watched Kyle closely, gazing intently at the matchbook and lost in thought. His eyes lit up with an idea. "Hey, would you want to come with my book club next month when we go to this place? What do you think?" Eagerly, he perched on the edge of his chair waiting for Kyle's response.

Kyle considered this idea. At this point Stan was so wrapped up in Christophe that he doubted that he'd be interested in going to a club of any sort with Kyle, even if it meant seeing Kenny again. And if Kyle were to attend something as benign as a book club meeting that just happened to be at a club downtown, he didn't think Stan would become suspicious or weird about it. At least, he really hoped he wouldn't. He had begun to notice that Stan was keeping him on an even shorter leash than usual these days, no doubt fueled by Christophe's bizarre influence. Kyle was so hungry to get away and forget about what was happening in his own home that he decided to take Butters up on his offer. Besides, seeing Kenny again sounded so healthy and normal and refreshing.

"You know what, Butters? That sounds like a wonderful idea. When's the meeting?" With a smile, Kyle tucked the little matchbook into his pocket and patted it gently.

*****

"Where are you going again, exactly? And with whom?" Stan asked, a little bit of an edge in his voice. He was sitting on the deck with his back to the water, the setting sun making his dark hair glow like he was the subject of a Byzantine painting. Across from him, Christophe was chain smoking and playing solitaire. He peered at Kyle with mild interest from the corner of his eye.

Kyle sighed as he buttoned the cuffs of his tailored linen shirt. He had decided to throw caution to the winds slightly and dress up for the occasion. It's not as if anyone really seemed to care what he wore around the house. If anything, Christophe only seemed to become completely interested in Kyle's body when he was wearing swim trunks and preparing to take a dip in the canal. Because of this, Kyle had started wearing a shirt into the water and only swimming very early in the morning when Christophe was still sleeping off the liquor from the previous night. Stan was such a bum about clothing that he often wandered around in trunks or a t-shirt and ill-fitting jeans.

"I told you, Stan, I'm going out with Butters and his book club friends. We're going to a little club in downtown Denver." Kyle slid on his blazer, enjoying the feeling of looking nice; of feeling hopeful about something, even if it was just a goofy club meeting with a bunch of Butters' rich socialite friends.

"And the name of this club is....?" Stan's eyes narrowed as he stared hard at Kyle. A can of beer was languishing in his hand, forgotten.

"The Mortimer Club. I told you that. A month ago." Kyle said in a clipped tone. He checked his watch. "And I'm running late so I guess I'll see you guys later. I'm not really sure when I'll be home." He turned to leave, feeling in his pocket to make sure he had his car keys.

"Wait." Stan said simply enough, but with an underlying authority that sent a tiny chill through Kyle. The dynamic was shifting here, in disturbing ways that Kyle didn't understand nor care for. Stan was slowly becoming more controlling, but in an almost innocuous way that seemed to seep into the very fabric of the household. It had happened so subliminally that Kyle hadn't really started to notice it until it was too late, and he'd almost silently agreed to the change. He turned back around slowly. He noticed that Christophe was suddenly paying close attention to the exchange, his eyes almost hungry.

"First of all, you can go out tonight. That's fine with me. But when you get there, I want you to have someone take a picture of you and Butters next to the entrance of this Mortimer Club place. Got it?"

Kyle just stared at him, slightly dazed at this weird request. He nodded, slightly.

"How far away is this place?" Stan took a sip of beer, the sun glinting off the can.

"Um, with traffic I think it's about 45 minutes away." Kyle said, hollowly.

Stan glanced at his watch. "It's 7:45 now. So, I'll expect this picture from you no later than...." He trailed off, thinking.

"I'd say 9:00, right? That sound okay to you?" Christophe spoke up, his face cradled in his hand. He smiled wickedly at Kyle and winked. Kyle was almost left breathless by his audacity. In fact, this whole conversation was making him feel sick to his stomach.

"I don't understand. Why do you want a picture of Butters and me? What's the point?"

Stan shrugged. "I like to know where you are and who you're with. Is that a problem?"

"I mean, no, of course not, I guess. I, just, um -" Kyle couldn't find the words to explain how this whole thing made him feel. Dirty. Ashamed. But, why?

Stan drained the beer from the can and crumpled it up in his fist. Laying it aside on a table, he stood up. Kyle trembled slightly when he ran his hand through his hair. Stan only did that when he was starting to feel aggressive. Slowly, he advanced on Kyle who suddenly wanted to run away but couldn't make his feet move. He stayed rooted to the spot, afraid and waiting. Stan rested a rough hand on Kyle's cheek.

"I think things really need to change around here, Kyle. Don't you?" He ran his fingertips down the side of Kyle's face until they came to rest under his chin. Kyle couldn't dare to look at him, afraid to see what Stan's face looked like. He didn't answer either. What could he possibly say to a question like that?

"I think we can start with you showing a little bit of respect for Christophe and I," Stan continued. Roughly, he tipped Kyle's face back so they were eye to eye. Stan's eyes looked unfocused, like he wasn't really present in his own body. Kyle's stomach clenched. Who was this person in front of him?

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, dammit." Stan growled. "I'll let you know when I don't want you looking me in the eye. Do you understand? And you're to treat Christophe with the same courtesy." He gripped Kyle's chin forcefully. Kyle almost gasped from the pain of having his face squeezed.

"I, I have to go, Stan. Butters said he was going to be waiting for me at the entrance." Kyle whimpered, tears burning his eyes.

"And the picture?" Stan asked softly, starting to loosen his grip on Kyle's face.

"I'll send it to you by 9. I promise." Tears fell in tiny droplets down Kyle's cheeks now, burning his skin.

"See that you do." Abruptly, Stan jerked Kyle forward and kissed him deeply on the mouth, the flavor of beer adorning his lips. "Don't forget to say goodbye to Christophe."

Awkwardly, Kyle glanced at Christophe, who was smiling a cruelly now. "Good night, Christophe."

"Later, gorgeous." He waggled his fingers in an exaggerated wave of goodbye.

"Have a good time tonight, baby. Give Butters my regards." Stan smiled charmingly, and for a moment, he almost looked like his old self.

*******

"A picture of the two of us? Sure, buddy! Maxwell here would be more than happy to take one for us. Right, Maxwell?" Butters looked at Maxwell, a bright, clueless smile on his face. Light from the entrance of the club shone off his lips, making them sparkle due to the Vaseline he'd rubbed onto them.

The valet had the impersonal look of a professional people pleaser, accustomed to satisfying odd and annoying requests from the patrons of the upscale Mortimer Club. The club was small, as Butters had said it was, but just from standing on the sidewalk and glancing into its exterior, you could tell that it catered to a more elite crowd. Chandeliers and rich wine red carpeting could be glimpsed through the polished glass and gold doors, and lilting violin and piano music wafted on the summer air. Beautiful people milled about in high fashion, holding martinis and sipping from champagne flutes. Kyle was suddenly very glad that he'd decided to dress in his best suit.

Maxwell nodded to Butters and carefully took Kyle's iPhone. With a practiced hand, he held the phone horizontally and snapped a picture, making sure to include the club's name in the shot. When he showed the photograph to Kyle, he gulped and thanked him profusely, confusing Butters. Noticing that it was already 8:55, Kyle hurriedly texted the picture to Stan and heaved a sigh of relief as soon as he'd seen it had been sent successfully.

"Shall we?" Butters chirped, gesturing towards the club. He looked positively adorable in a red paisley jacket, bow tie, and crisp khaki slacks. A bright blue silk shirt complemented his slicked-back blond hair perfectly. A spicy cologne tickled Kyle's nose whenever Butters moved.

Kyle nodded, nervously falling into step beside Butters. He was preoccupied by his stupid phone, anxiously awaiting for Stan to respond to the picture. Even from afar, he managed to put a damper on Kyle's good time. Just the thought annoyed him and he decided to put Stan's nonsense out of his mind for the time being. Rather, he looked with interest at the interior of the club. It was an intimate setting; opulent and refined. Tables were situated around a small dance floor. A stage, complete with a baby grand piano, was softly lit. Band members were tuning up their instruments quietly, as patrons of the club buzzed with excitement and laughter. Candles flickered in ruby red containers on each of the tables, making Kyle think of pizzeria's he went to as a child. Their light scattered scarlet diamonds across cream-colored tablecloths.

"Oh, there are the girls!" Butters squealed, as he grabbed Kyle's arm and pulled him forward.

The "girls" Butters was referring to were all middle aged and dressed to the nines. They welcomed the pair warmly and with great enthusiasm, happy that Butters had finally brought a friend to one of their events. It seemed that Cartman always declined an invitation, which came as absolutely no surprise to Kyle.

"Oh, you are absolutely darling," a lady named Dody fawned over Kyle. "And such lovely red hair. Why, I used to have hair just like that," she said wistfully as she patted the silver chignon perched on her head.

"She was a regular Lucille Ball, and her hair was just as natural, too." An angular woman quipped, sucking on a highball.

Dody laughed and swatted her friend with a cloth napkin. "Quiet, Estelle, the night is young yet. Don't give away all of my secrets at once." She slid a decanter of wine towards Kyle. "Drink up, honey, you look like you could use some spirits." She winked at him girlishly.

Kyle felt himself blush from all of the attention and nervously took a sip of wine. All of the girls were lovely and kind and warm. This atmosphere was worlds' away from what his home was like right now, with Stan acting so peculiar and Christoph lingering in the shadows, ready to stir up trouble. Suddenly, Kyle was very glad he had decided to come that evening. Now, if only Kenny was as excited as he was to be reunited, that would be the icing on the cake.

A silvery tinkling sound broke through the laughter and chatter of the women. Kyle looked over and saw that Butters was using a butter knife to tap lightly on the side of his glass, commanding everyone's attention. "Now, girls, and gentleman," Butters nodded in Kyle's direction, "let's not forget that this is a club meeting after all, and we should discuss this month's selection at least a little."

"Oh, pish, Leopold," Estelle chastised him with a wave of a french manicured hand, calling Butters by his seldom-used real name, "tonight is not an evening for an 'Eat Pray Love' discussion. Which, by the way, I detest with every fiber of my being. This evening is for us to relax and cut loose. What do you say, girls?" She looked around at the group of women, with Kyle grinning off to the side.

"Hear! Hear!" Glenda, a cheery looking woman in a green frock, exclaimed, raising a glass into the air. The women followed suit, supporting Estelle's exclamation with a hearty toast, all of them raising their libations into the air and clinking them together. Kyle chuckled. "I guess you've been outvoted, Butters." He too raised his glass and toasted the notion, eliciting a chorus of laughter from the women.

"Oh, we like him, Leopold," Dody said, putting an arm around Kyle. "You must bring him to the next club meeting. Why, he's absolutely charming."

"I think that can be arranged," Kyle said, smiling at Dody and enjoying himself thoroughly. Abruptly, the house lights dimmed significantly and a spotlight came to rest on the center of the little stage, and the voices of the clubs' guests fell to eager murmurs in the darkness.

"This is it, Kyle! Kenny's about to perform!" Butters whispered excitedly. Without warning, Kyle's heartbeat increased and he could feel his face becoming flushed. What would Kenny look like after all this time? Kyle held his breath as the club became silent as a grave, and a lone figure appeared out of the shadows and stepped into the spotlight.

It was at that moment that Kyle felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, indicating that he'd received a text message. He ignored it, not wanting to miss a moment of seeing his old friend once more, a face from his childhood past; long unseen but certainly not forgotten.

Kenny's face was in shadow so Kyle couldn't really see how much the years had changed him, but the dirty blonde hair was the same, albeit much shorter and stylishly cut. Kenny's slim body was clad in a tuxedo and his shiny shoes caught the spotlight. As the piano started to play a sorrowful introduction, Kenny brought the microphone to his lips and finally lifted his face so that the light could illuminate it.

"What'll I do, when you, are far away....and I am blue. What'll I do?" Kenny's voice flowed from his lips like honey, silky smooth but so sweet. Kyle could feel perspiration gathering on his brow, not only from the beautiful voice drifting into his ears, but also due to the face of his old friend. Kyle couldn't lie to himself and say the years hadn't etched their sorrows and struggles on Kenny's skin, because they had, but there was a refreshing confidence in the smile and in the blue eyes that were so sleepy and warm. Kenny looked so self-assured, like he knew his place and what he wanted to contribute to the world. Kyle was mesmerized.

For the next half an hour, Kenny regaled the club with his enchanting voice, lulling the crowd into a comfortable, enthralled silence. As he listened, Kyle drank deeply of his wine, savoring its bittersweet flavor; it complemented Kenny's voice perfectly. He glanced at Butters, who winked at him as if to say, "see? I told you he was amazing!" Kyle could only grin and nod. His phone, which buzzed imploringly from time to time in his pocket, was all but forgotten and so was Stan's bizarre behavior. All that mattered was this moment, Kenny's song, and Kyle's yearning to reconnect with him.

When Kenny's set came to a close and the lights started to brighten, Butter's book club ladies began to crow their delight and applaud madly. Butter's smiled at Kyle while Kyle watched Kenny walk slowly off the stage, his hands in his pockets and his head down, as if he was avoiding making eye contact with anyone. He made his way to the bar, where he signaled to the bartender who quickly brought him a martini. Kyle watched so closely that he could see Kenny's Adam's apple bob up and down as he drank.

"Well, are you gonna go talk with him or not?" Butters asked, his blue eyes puzzled. "You ain't shy or nothing, are you? 'Cuz you look great, Kyle. You really do."

"I'm not worried about how I look, Butters, geez. I mean, maybe Kenny doesn't even want company right now, you know? I don't want to bother him."

"Well, you'll never know if you don't at least try. Come on." Butters gently nudged him. "Go talk to him. I think it'll make you feel better, fellah."

Kyle glanced at him, surprised at his choice of words. Butters looked at him solemnly, grim understanding in his eyes. Once again, Kyle was aware of how much he underestimated this kid. Or maybe he just wasn't at good at downplaying his sadness as he thought.

"Fine, fine. I'll go talk to him." He stood, and butters nodded his encouragement.

"I'll be right here if you need me, Kyle. Now go on." He shooed him away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this was an update that was a long time coming...I haven't worked on this story in like a year. Anyway, it's not for the faint of heart, so if you don't like violence or whatever in your fiction, I'd advise you steer clear. However, can I just say that it's super fun writing Kenny as a sexy lounge singer? Honestly, that is just the BEST. It almost takes the edge off of writing Stan as a burgeoning psychopath, but it's all about balance, right? 
> 
> Anyway, if anyone's reading I hope you enjoy and as always, comments are super awesome. Thanks!

Gulping down his nervousness, Kyle plodded over to Kenny, feeling as clumsy as a new foal, beseeching himself not to act like a fool. As he slowly approached the bar, Kenny knocked back the last of his drink, turned, and smiled at him. 

"Kyle."

His heart thudding in his chest, he nodded. The years seemed to start melting away, but not his anxiety. He could feel a blush starting in his neck and making its way to his cheeks. 

Kenny patted the stool next to him. "Sit down, man. You look like you could use a drink."

Kyle nodded and sat, his face burning but his heartbeat steadily slowing. If Kenny was surprised to see him he didn't show it, he merely seemed to accept it. 

"What'll you have?"

"Well, I was drinking wine but I'm not picky," Kyle stammered. Kenny laughed. 

"Yes, you are, dude. What kind were you drinking?"

"Merlot."

"Jake, merlot for my pal here, please.  And make it fast, it looks like he's about to pass out over here."

"Sure, boss. Anything for yourself?" Jake asked. 

"You know it," Kenny said, tapping the rim of his martini glass. 

"So, what's new?" He asked, turning to Kyle. 

"Well, I, uh...," Kyle tripped over his words, trying to formulate an answer. So much for not making a fool of himself. 

"Okay, so maybe that was too much of an open-ended question to start with. Let's see... oh, I know, what the hell are you doing here? Let's try that one on for size."

Kyle looked into his wine glass because looking into Kenny's red rimmed eyes proved to be a little too daunting. "Butters told me you were performing here and I wanted to hear you sing, and... well, it's been a long time, too."

"Yes. Yes, it has. You're absolutely right. Butters, huh?" Kenny leaned away and looked over at the book club group. Butters waved cheerfully. Kenny nodded in his direction, smirking. 

"God, those old broads are a trip. One of them threw their girdle on the stage once. It was horrifying but so awesome. I'd say butters hasn't changed much, huh?"

Kyle took a gulp of wine, relishing the burn in his belly. "I wouldn't say that. He's a lot more confident than he used to be. Do you want to go say hello?"

"Nah, not really. I'd rather get out of here honestly."

"Oh, well, it was really nice to see you again. I mean, you look great and your voice, God, I couldn't -"

Kenny laughed. "What, you don't want to see my place?"

"Your place? Well, sure, but -"

"Hold on, let me pay the tab." Kenny reached into his tuxedo jacket, no doubt retrieving his wallet. Kyle flushed. 

"No, don't. I have money." Clumsily, he reached for his own wallet, his hand brushing against his forgotten phone. Fleeting guilt curled in his stomach. He hadn't responded to Stan all night. 

"I'm sure you have money, dude, but I've got this one. Be cool." Kenny threw a couple 20s on the counter. "Let's go." He stood and started for the exit. 

"Wait, let me say goodbye to butters!" 

"Here, Kyle. Don't forget your jacket. I'll let the girls know you called it a night." Almost magically, butters was there, pressing Kyle's overcoat into his hand. "You were great tonight, Kenny. I can hardly get over how great you sound," he gushed. 

Everything was happening so fast. One moment, he was standing next to butters and the next he was being whisked away from the club in Kenny's sleek, silver Lexus, the stars and moon glinting lovingly in the gathering darkness. "Do you live far from the club?" Kyle asked. 

"About 20 minutes or so, depending on traffic." Kenny responded. "Where are you living now?"

"Oh, I have a place on high line canal with Stan." Kyle's stomach clenched at the thought of Stan, but he pushed his apprehension aside, determined to have a good time. 

Kenny didn't respond right away, and the music filling up the background caught Kyle's attention. Melancholy jazz wafted on the night air. The sun was completely gone by this point, and the night sky was soft, the darkness fuzzy rather than sharp and foreboding. 

"How many years has it been? Ten? Maybe more? We're completely different people than we were the last time we saw each other, huh?" Kenny mused.

"I guess. That isn't necessarily a good thing though," Kyle said before he could stop himself. "I mean, you're doing great, clearly, but -"

"What makes you think I'm doing great, Kyle?"

"Well, tonight at the club, you were amazing and everyone, I mean, I couldn't believe..." Kyle trailed off, feeling stupid. He didn't have any reason to believe Kenny was doing great. He had just assumed. 

"Hey, relax. I'm just fucking with you. You're right, I'm actually doing pretty okay. I'd like to know how you're doing though. You don't seem like yourself."

Kyle snorted. "That's a weird thing to say considering we haven't seen each other in a decade. Like you said, we're both different people, right? Maybe this is just my new normal."

"Oh, well, that's okay, I guess. You just seem kind of down, is all." Kenny pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket and pulled one out with his teeth. He offered the pack to Kyle who shook his head. "Hey, can you give me a light? There's a Zippo in the glove box there."

"Yeah, sure." He sifted through papers, burger king napkins, and gum wrappers before finally finding the lighter under a dirty magazine. He held it up. "Really, Kenny?"

Kenny shrugged. "A man has needs, dude."

"Right." Kyle rolled his eyes and lit the cigarette, throwing the lighter and the distasteful titty magazine back in the glove box. "I guess some things never change."

"Oh, like judgemental friends?" Kenny asked, blowing smoke out the window. He peered at Kyle through the residual haze. Kyle crossed his arms and huffed.

"Fine, whatever. I just don't know why you need to keep that shit in your car. I mean, you're not jacking it in here, are you?" He started to panic. "Should I have put a towel on the seat before sitting here?" 

"Oh my God, dude, I was wrong. You haven't changed at all. You're exactly the same," Kenny said, laughing like crazy. "Why are you so uptight? Don't tell me Stan and you aren't breaking out the ass-less chaps from time to time? That would break my heart. A life without kinky sex is no life at all."

"What, do you think we just dress up like the village people and bump uglies, Kenny? Jesus, you are so uncouth. For your information, Stan and I, well, we... like to keep things simple, okay?" He finished lamely. 

"I like simple. Sounds nice and wholesome," Kenny remarked. "Of course, the more wholesome you are the better it feels when you finally get freaky nasty."

"I'm done with this conversation." Kyle  snapped, looking out the window, feeling uncomfortable and unreasonably amused. Kenny had always been a pervert, there was no reason to think that had changed. It still irritated him that everything always circled back to sex though. It was especially annoying to talk about considering he wasn't getting any from Stan lately. Stan was too preoccupied with that transient weirdo. 

"We're here," Kenny said, steering the car up a curving incline, dark pine trees thick on each side. Through the cloud of cigarette smoke, Kyle could smell their pungent fragrance, and he was suddenly awash with longing. That smell took him back to the canal, to happier times; with Stan, of course. 

Kenny parked, took one last, long drag on his cigarette, and flicked it into the darkness, the orange tip fading away like a tiny meteorite. The gesture reminded Kyle of Christophe and his annoying habit of throwing his cigarette butts all over the beach. He bit back the critiscm burning on his tongue. Instead, he stepped out of the car and looked around. A charming cabin rested in a forest clearing, the porch light cutting its light through the quiet night. A touch of frost in the air nipped at Kyle's ears; autumn was close on the heels of summer. 

"Hey, this is nice. Do you live here all by yourself?"

"For the most part. Come on, ill show you around."

Walking into the foyer, Kenny snapped on the light. Immediately, Kyle was aware of the photographs lining the walls. 

"Uh, Kenny, why are there like a million photos of Wendy in here?"

"Oh, those," Kenny said, casually, tossing his car keys into a bowl on a table next to the door, "this is her folks' place. She comes here on the weekends sometimes. Keeps me company."

"Wait, what? For real? Dude, why are you staying in Wendy's place? Are you guys, um...." he trailed off, feeling awkward. 

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Kyle. Relax. Let's get a drink and ill answer your questions. If you answer mine, of course." Kenny led him into the kitchen, turning on lights along the way. Reaching into a mini fridge under the counter he pulled out a bottle of wine. Plunking two glasses down on the table, he poured some out for both of them. 

"Bottoms' up," he grinned and knocked back the wine in one gulp. He poured himself another glass. Kyle nursed his wine, slowly. He watched Kenny closely, marveling at how hard to read he was, and yet he didn't seem to take himself, or anything, too seriously. He didn't make any sense but Kyle felt at ease with him. 

"Go into the living room and ill bring out some snacks. Make yourself comfortable, dude. Here, take the wine with you." Kenny nodded at Kyle and handed him the bottle. "It's down that hallway to the left."

"Got it." Kyle wandered down the hallway, glancing at the photos of Wendy adorning almost every inch of wall space. It was like a fucking mausoleum in her honor: Wendy graduating from high school, Wendy graduating from college, Wendy posing on some cruise ship. Why the hell was Kenny staying in her parents' home? Were they a couple? The idea seemed oddly repugnant to Kyle; like a cat and dog getting it on. He just couldn't picture it. 

Kyle found the living room and settled himself on the couch. Floor to ceiling windows created a spectacular view of the forest; dark clutches of trees fading away into the distance with orange squares of light scattered here and there, indicating the presence of faraway neighbors. A horned moon, blue like ice, hung dripping in the sky. 

Kyle set his glass and the wine bottle on the coffee table, taking care to use the coasters. A huge stone fireplace took up most of the far wall, more pictures of Wendy littering the mantle. Glancing at the side table, yet another ornately framed photo of Wendy was sitting there. Picking it up, Kyle studied it. Wendy smiled up at him, a pretty young woman with glossy dark hair and sharp eyes. She was wearing a yellow sun dress, standing in a field of red tulips. 

Kenny came into the room, carrying a bag of chips and a couple bowls. "Wendy looks great," Kyle remarked, setting the picture down. 

"Yeah, man. You should see her naked." Kenny set the bowls down and tore into the chips. He offered the bag to Kyle, who looked at him in shock. "What?"

"You've seen Wendy naked? I can't believe it."

Kenny stared at him blankly. "Dude, have you met me?"

"I'm well aware that you're a fucking pervert, Kenny. I just can't believe that Wendy of all people would get naked for you... she has such high morals. I mean, are you guys even dating?"

"Dating? No way. We're friends. She's been awesome helping me get back on my feet. She even helped me get the gig at the club. She has so many connections because of her parents and her job. Did you know she's a lawyer now?"

Kyle brought a chip to his lips and paused to digest this bit of information. "That makes sense. She always loved to argue." He put the chip in his mouth and chewed idly. "Where have you been, dude? How did Wendy get you back on your feet?"

Kenny took a big swig of wine. "Well, you remember how i just kind of fell off the grid after high school?" He stood up and crossed the room. He flipped a switch on the wall and a fire roared to life in the fireplace. The orange flickering illuminated Kenny's skin, making the wine glass in his hand glow. "My folks kicked me out because they figured it was time I started paying my way, even though I'd been buying my own shit for years with the money I made selling weed."

"Yeah, you just kind of disappeared." Kyle could vaguely remember noticing Kenny's absence midway through senior year, but he was so focused on his grades and college applications that he hadn't paid it much mind. Not to mention it was around that time that he started falling really hard for Stan, spending many lonely nights pining for him. He sighed at the memory, feeling even worse about his current situation. 

"Anyway, I was crashing with a buddy and I just remember waking up one morning, hungover and laid out on this dude's bedroom floor, and just thinking to myself, man, fuck this. Truly. Just fuck south park. I'm out."

"I can't say that I blame you." Kyle said, feeling guilty that he'd been so wrapped up in his own life that he hadn't been more supportive of his friend. They probably could've really leaned on each other back then, while muddling through the shit storm that makes up adolescence. 

"So I packed up what little stuff I had, got in my crappy car and just started driving. Somewhere between here and Nevada my car broke down and I started hitchhiking. A trucker was cool enough to stop and pick me up, until he got weird about 20 miles in and I had to tuck and roll about 5 miles outside of Las Vegas. I made my way into the city, got a shitty job as a bus boy in a casino, and....." he trailed off, taking a long drink of wine.

"And what?" Kyle asked, intrigued. Kenny's life seemed so exciting compared to his bizarre ivory tower. 

"Well, I bummed around, screwed a couple show girls, started popping pills like they were pez, even started fucking around with heroin, and realized one day that the shit I was doing in Vegas was no different than my life back in South park."

"Oh? So what'd you do?"

Kenny grinned. "I continued doing stupid shit but felt guilty all the time. I started drinking a lot more to cope with how crappy things were going... got my ass handed to me quite a few times when I mouthed off to people at bars, and because I was in Vegas there was a steady supply of booze and drugs and whores, male or female."

Kyle glanced at him, surprised. Kenny laughed. 

"Dude, are you honestly surprised? I love everyone. Anyway, I was acting like an asshole, going absolutely nowhere, until one night, the floor show for the crappy casino I was working in didn't show up and my boss was desperate. I offered to sing because I actually really enjoyed singing back in the day. Remember?"

"Yeah, man. For that little kid circus we wanted to do. You got pretty good, too."

Kenny took a swig of wine and wiped his hand across his mouth. "So, I got up on that stage, scared out of my mind even though I was super high off of... God, I can't even remember anymore, and I started to sing and suddenly I felt so calm. It was crazy! I felt so completely at ease and everything was so right in that moment. You know what I mean?" He glanced at Kyle who could only muster a small half hearted smile. 

"I sang a couple of songs and the crowd was pretty cool. It was mostly full of people who were 3 sheets to the wind or taking advantage of the crappy buffet, but they actually applauded. It was great." He grinned and leaned back against the couch. "The whole thing sounds sad now but at the time it was exactly what I needed. Finally I felt like I was going to be kind of okay, that there was something I could be good at. Honestly, that's when things started to get better."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I was actually good enough that night that they asked me to perform again when the real act crapped out, and this was a pretty seedy place so the acts they hired routinely wouldn't show up. Before I knew it, I was starting to develop a following and suddenly I didn't hate myself like I did before? I mean, I still hated myself, but not as much."

Kyle glanced at him, sad to hear him say something like that out of nowhere.

"I never knew you hated yourself, Kenny."

Kenny smirked and finished off the wine in his glass.

"Happy people don't treat themselves the way I was treating myself, Kyle. I acted like my body was a trashcan and I could just put whatever the fuck I wanted inside, and I didn't give a shit what it would do to me." He thought a moment. "It's amazing how well you take care of yourself when you have something to look forward to; to be happy about."

"That makes sense," Kyle replied, softly. He thought about how little care he'd been putting into himself since Christophe had seeped into his life, and he wondered if he hated himself the way Kenny had. In fact, the most effort he'd put into himself in awhile had been to come to the club that evening to see Kenny again.

"Anyway, I eventually came back to South Park to see my folks and Karen, of course, and big surprise, my parents were just as shitty as they'd always been. I'd managed to save up some money and I ended up giving them half, and you know how they showed their gratitude?"

"Do I want to know?"

"No, but I'll tell you anyway. They asked me where the rest of the money was, and I hadn't even told them that I'd kept some in reserve." Kenny snorted. "Motherfuckers, they'll never change. I did, however, give a little extra to Karen, just to make sure she'd actually be able to buy something for herself."

"What about Kevin?"

"Oh, dude, he's long gone. He went out east or something, to Baltimore or whatever. Who the fuck even knows? It's not like we were ever really close. We just kind of clung to the raft of bullshit we'd been born on until we were both old enough to get the hell out."

Kyle shifted on the couch, stretching out a little and blushing when his feet brushed up against the side of Kenny's leg. He quickly pulled away, but Kenny only smiled.

"You're acting like a skittish animal or something. Are you sure you're okay?"

Kyle wasn't, but he didn't feel like he was ready to start unpacking the horrorshow of his life yet. Instead, he changed the subject back to Kenny.

"So, how does Wendy figure into all of this anyway?"

Kenny leaned his head back and closed his eyes, the smile on his lips widening into one of pure pleasure.

"God, Wendy," he popped his head up and peered at Kyle. "Did I ever tell you I had the major hots for her in high school? Like, I was super fucking crazy about her, and it wasn't just about sex. I just liked her."

This bit of information floored Kyle; he never would've guessed. All he could do was shake his head, his mouth open a little in shock.

"Well, it's true. Some people didn't like her because she was always so up in arms, so ready to fight, but I figured out pretty quickly that it was just because she cared, you know? She really cared, and she wasn't afraid to show it. I think she thought I had a lot of potential, so she was always on my ass to apply myself, and even though I acted like she drove me crazy, it was almost like I was gonna burn up because I was just so into her."

Kyle felt bad for not realizing it at the time. He'd really stopped paying close attention to Wendy once he firmly had Stan all to himself, once he knew he didn't have to worry anymore. Sure, they'd had a lot of the same classes and she'd beaten him out for valedictorian, but other than that they were hardly close. If anything, they were just passing acquaintances.

"I never had a chance with her in high school, so when I came back to visit my parents and I went out to the bar and I saw her sitting at a table all by herself, I just couldn't stop myself." A whimsical look lit up his face. "I can even remember what she was wearing, dude. This super tight black dress that was kind of sparkly or whatever, and her hair was up so you could see her neck, and god, you should've seen how good her tits -"

"Okay, Kenny, that's enough description," Kyle interjected. "Just keep going."

"Oh, right. Sorry." He took a deep breath like he was trying to collect himself. "Anyway, I sat down at her table and offered to buy her a drink, and then I guess you could say the rest was history. She seemed thrilled that I was doing okay, relatively speaking, and I wasn't at all surprised that she was doing everything she'd always planned to do, and we just spent the night catching up. It was fucking sweet." He raised his eyebrows. "This should come as no surprise but after we each had a few gin and tonics, well..." he trailed off, buffing his nails on his shirt.

Kyle rolled his eyes.

"I can only imagine what transpired next," he said.

"Dude, I fucking rocked Wendy's world that night! And I've been with a lot of people, but oh my god, Wendy was so fucking ti-"

"I don't need the full tour of what happened!" Kyle exclaimed, covering his ears.

Kenny just laughed and poured himself another glass of wine, though he was already well beyond tipsy. He offered some to Kyle who declined, choosing instead to nurse the same glass he'd started with.

"I was totally amazed that she wasn't already married or dating someone seriously," he continued, looking into the fire. "I thought, god, someone hasn't snatched you up? This whole world is nuts, I swear to god. But, no, she's still single and we see each other every so often but I'm still nursing this gigantic crush on her, of course."

"You guys aren't dating? Even after she set you up with the job at the club and all of this?" Kyle gestured at the room they were sitting in.

"Nah, man. I'd love to date her, but right now I'm a lone wolf. That doesn't mean I'm not holding out hope."

Kyle mulled this over for awhile in silence, the sound of the fire crackling the only sound in the room. How he envied Kenny, living this carefree life that he was so comfortable with, and even though he wasn't in a relationship he still seemed so happy, so content. Suddenly, it made him want to start crying, but he managed to hold back his tears. A sniffle broke out instead, though he tried to stifle it behind his hand. Kyle sat up quickly and glanced at Kenny, horrified.

Kenny leaned forward and placed his glass on the coffee table, scooting closer to Kyle with a concerned look on his face. As he drew closer Kyle could smell his spicy cologne and he noticed that Kenny's shirt was unbuttoned at the top, exposing his white undershirt. He looked away quickly, ashamed and embarrassed for feeling a slight curl of interest in his belly. No wonder Stan was treating him the way he was, Kyle couldn't even keep his thoughts on the straight and narrow, but he just felt so lost and alone.

"See, I knew you weren't okay," Kenny murmured, and he was putting his arm around Kyle's shoulders. His cologne wrapped around Kyle and threatened to undo him, but he tried to stay in the moment and behave. "What's wrong, Kyle? Can't you tell me?"

Kyle shook his head and the tears were pooling at the corners of his eyes again. Before he could stop them, they were falling over and streaking down his face, and he was frantically trying to brush them away. In a moment, Kenny had pulled him into a cologne-laced hug, and finally Kyle allowed himself to sigh into his touch and get lost, even if it was only for a little while. It'd been so long since he'd been touched so tenderly, and Kenny was just so charming and self-assured and kind. The years fairly melted away as he held Kyle close, and Kyle reached up a trembling hand and clutched at Kenny's shirt.

After a few moments, Kenny pulled away and he was looking into Kyle's eyes, his own a cobalt blue, the edges rimmed with red from lack of sleep and booze, no doubt. They were filled with concern and another emotion Kyle couldn't name, but it made his heart flutter in his chest like a frantic bird trying to escape.

"You seem so sad, Kyle. Isn't there anything I can do to help?"

Recklessly, before he could even think about what he was doing or the potential consequences, Kyle leaned forward and kissed Kenny, his hungry and desperate lips tasting the wine and cigarette flavors lingering there. He was sure that Kenny would come to his senses after a split second and push him away, but he was amazed when Kenny pulled him closer and opened his mouth, his tongue slipping in between Kyle's lips, deepening the kiss. Kyle moaned in response, and all of a sudden he was winding his arms around Kenny's back, pulling him closer to his body, which was trembling and ready to accept so much more.

Sadly, it was Kyle that came to his senses before too long, and he reared back, his eyes wide and his heart thumping so fast he thought he was going to pass out. He gasped for breath and stared at Kenny, a deep, dreadful terror flooding through him.

"I can't believe I just did that. Oh, my god, Kenny, I'm so, so sorry. I just -"

Kenny silenced him with a finger on his lips, and his face was the very picture of understanding.

"Don't apologize, Kyle. I'd be lying if I said that Wendy was the only person I had a crush on back in high school." He smiled, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

Kyle flushed so profoundly that he thought he was going to burst into flames.

"Wait, what? Crush? Me? No, no way, I -"

Kenny shushed him again, becoming somber.

"First things first, you need to tell me what's going on, okay? I can tell that something's wrong, but I can't do anything if you wont tell me what. Can you do that?"

Kyle was getting ready to answer when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket again, and suddenly he remembered where he was, whom he was with, and what was waiting for him at home. He could feel the blood draining from his face while Kenny watched, his brow furrowed with concern. Kyle stood up abruptly, pulling away from Kenny who still had his hands on his knees.

"I have to get out of here, please. I need to go!"

"Okay, Cinderella, we can go; calm down," Kenny said, clearly trying to inject some levity into what had suddenly become a tense situation. "Let me grab my keys and stuff."

"You can't drive, Kenny! You're drunk!" Kyle fretted, wringing his hands. He almost felt like he was going to start crying again.

"Fine, then you take the reins, dude. I trust you."

Kyle drove them back to the club, and even though he desperately wanted to drive 100 mph he refrained, focusing on Kenny's music instead of his ever growing fear. He knew he was supposed to be home ages ago even though Stan hadn't given him a curfew, and if he found out he'd kissed Kenny, oh god, if he found that out -

"Kenny, what are we listening to?'

Kenny was smoking a cigarette while reclining in the front seat like he didn't have a care in the world.

"Korean rap. It's the wave of the future, dude. Do you like it?"

"It's distracting," Kyle said, but at the moment he was thankful for that.

They finally made it back to the club and Kyle parked, stumbling out of the car and frantically searching in his pockets for his keys. Kenny watched for a moment and then steadied him by laying a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm going to be in town for the unforeseen future," he said. "So, I'd like to see you again, and maybe Stan too if he's willing. Though, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be thrilled about my kissing you." He smirked, but it was boyish and devoid of malice.

Kyle finally located his keys and stared at Kenny, the terror rising up inside of him at the mention of the kiss. He tried to stay calm.

"I kissed you, Kenny. God, I can't believe I kissed you! Just out of nowhere! Stan's going to -"

He broke off, collecting himself.

"I'd love to see you again, Kenny. Seriously. I'm not sure when I'll be able to get away again, but I would really, really like to meet up."

"Well, good. Can I have your number? I'll text you. Would that be okay?"

"Sure, of course," Kyle replied, taking Kenny's phone and punching his number in. He handed it back and his heart fluttered for the millionth time that night when their fingers brushed. What the fuck was coming over him?

"Say hi to Stan for me," Kenny said, as he shut the door of Kyle's car and stood back, his hands in his pockets.

As Kyle pulled out of the parking lot he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that Kenny was still standing there watching, his blonde hair ruffled by the night breezes, almost making him look like he had 10 years ago.

*****

When Kyle finally got home that night, he tried to unlock the front door as quietly as possible, hoping against hope that Stan and Christophe would already be asleep so he would't have to answer any awkward questions. Stepping into the foyer, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the living room was dark, but before he could make it to the stairs a hand closed on his shoulder and whirled him around. Stan was standing there, and his eyes were dark and foreign. The stench of whiskey was pouring off of him and Kyle almost gagged.

"Where the fuck have you been?" He seethed, and Kyle was able to tear his eyes away long enough to see Christophe lingering in the background, watching closely and smirking.

"I, uh, I got caught up talking to Butters and his book club friends," Kyle stammered. Slowly, he took off his coat and hung it on the hall tree, but he didn't dare take his eyes off of Stan. "I'm sorry, I should've called."

"One fucking text. That's all I got from you all night; one lousy goddamn text," Stan said, softly. The dangerous edge to his tone was enough to make Kyle's stomach lurch with nausea. "I was worried and you were just being inconsiderate."

"No, I wasn't trying to be -"

Stan cut Kyle off by slapping him across the face, and he fell to the floor, whimpering. Looking up, Stan was obscured by the tears filling up his eyes, but he could still see him, his wavery outline blurred and soft.

"Christophe," Stan said, his voice still dangerously soft. "I think we're going to have to teach Kyle a lesson. Don't you?"

"Sure thing," Christophe replied, his cheerful tone severely out of place in the midst of the situation.

Kyle crawled onto his hands and knees and clung to Stan's shirt, crying now.

"No, please, Stan. I didn't mean it. Come on, let's talk this out, I can -"

Stan silenced him by slapping him again, but this time he hit the other side of Kyle's face. Kyle fell again, but this time he didn't try to sit up. He just lay on his side and curled himself into a little trembling ball. Fleeting images of Kenny passed through his mind as he heard Stan confer with Christophe, and all Kyle could do was get lost in the memories of the sweet forbidden kiss they'd shared mere hours before.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This still isn't for the faint of heart, so if you aren't into sexual violence or just violence in general, I strongly suggest you not read. Otherwise, enjoy and leave a fucking comment, you guys. It's like a comment wasteland out here, lmao. xD
> 
> PS: oh, yeah. there's sexy times in this chapter, too. Smut ahoy!

The next morning, Kyle woke before the sun rose, and for a moment he was afraid that it had started raining after he passed out the night before. Throwing open the window, he reached a hand out and felt swirling morning mist and a damp chill, but no raindrops falling. For a moment he was happy, before he remembered the events of the previous evening, and then his stomach clenched painfully.

He pulled on a light t shirt and a pair of long shorts and went downstairs, taking care not to walk too loudly lest he rouse the rest of the household. Making his way onto the porch, he didn't even bother to put on his shoes, opting instead to walk directly to the dock and all the way to the end. Kyle stood there for a moment, coming face to face with the soft light breaking over the mountains and trees in the distance, and he knew before too long the sunrise would break and wash over him; reviving him.

The green water spread out before him like the sumptuous fabric of a queen's gown, and it was soft, so soft and still. Kyle wished he could bottle up that stillness, that calmness, so he could start to make sense of his own life and circumstances. Faint little stars were dying away in the face of the rising sun and he watched them wink out one by one, tiny candle flames extinguished for another day. Kyle let his surroundings flood over him and through him, and for a moment he felt himself slowing down just enough so that he could think, really think.

Surprisingly, his thoughts did not drift to what had happened last night. Rather, they drifted back further in time to the summers he had spent with Stan on a different canal, at a different cabin, and in a different, better time. Those were the summers when Kyle really started falling in love with Stan, and he carried the secret around with him inside of his heart, burning and wounding him, but also sustaining him.

Kyle's aunt and uncle had had a small cabin on Hood Canal in Washington, reasonably close to Seattle, and during the summers in high school they had been kind enough to invite Kyle and one friend to visit them for a week every June. That friend had always been Stan, of course, and they had spent that golden week every year swimming and exploring and becoming so close. Kyle could remember vividly when he realized he loved Stan, and it had been on a misty morning very much like this one, though it had been at that long ago cabin on Hood.

Love had crept up on him back then, but as soon as it made its presence known Kyle had been completely captured, and he supposed he still was; desperately so. That's why this whole situation was so hard to swallow, and so fucking hard to understand. Kyle looked out at the water and he could almost see the waters of Hood Canal, could almost hear the seals barking, and he was transported back to that summer morning when his love for Stan flared, and refused to be ignored any longer.

They had been standing at the end of a dock very similar to the one Kyle was currently standing on, just waiting for the sun to rise after staying up all night talking, and out of nowhere a gigantic black fin had broken through the water, completely taking them by surprise. After a moment, another fin broke the water, and then another, and all they could do was stare in shock.

"Those can't be..." Stan had said, his eyes wide.

"No way, I mean, my aunt and uncle told me that they sometimes get lost and come through here, but what are the odds?" Kyle had answered, his hand over his mouth.

At that moment, an orca had breached the water and they both lost their shit, talking at once and exclaiming like what they were seeing was the most incredible thing in the history of the world.

"No fucking way!" Stan yelled when another orca sprang out of the water at a dizzying pace.

"I can't believe it!" Kyle said, awed, and before he knew what he was doing he had reached out and taken Stan's hand, squeezing his fingers and basically just trying to remind himself that what they were seeing was real, and that they were seeing it together. Stan had managed to tear his gaze away from the whales to look down at his hand in Kyle's, and then straight into his eyes, his mouth open.

"God, sorry. I didn't mean to do that," Kyle had said, flustered and deeply embarrassed. Quickly, he had released Stan's hand and looked back at the water, his face flushing hot. He didn't dare look into Stan's face again.

Stan was silent for a moment as they watched the whales disappear down the waterway, still breaching on occasion and their dorsal fins cutting through the water like black knives. When they were completely gone, he let out a breath that he'd clearly been holding for awhile.

"That was amazing," he'd said, softly.

"Yeah," Kyle had replied, breathlessly, still burning up with shame. "You know, they say it's good luck when the orcas find their way through here, because it almost never happens."

"Oh, yeah. No, that was completely amazing, dude, but that's not what I was talking about."

"Oh?"

"I was talking about this." Stan reached out and gently took Kyle's hand, holding it loosely in his own.

Now Kyle's face had flushed but for an entirely different reason, and his heart stuttered in his chest, tripping over itself. He couldn't bear to look at Stan because he knew the entire, gigantic truth of what he felt would be etched on his face, so he had just cleared his throat and tried to think of something to say.

"You know, the interesting thing about Hood Canal is that it's actually a fjord because it's, uh, not man made." He had laughed a little, suddenly shy. "Don't you think fjord is a weird word? I always thought so. I mean, how often are you going to hear that word come up in conversation?"

Stan had just nodded, smiling. He knew that Kyle always started to ramble like this when he was nervous, but he had been kind enough not to point it out that time. All he'd done was continue to hold Kyle's hand as they watched the sunrise, and to this day Kyle still considered that morning to be one of the most beautiful and perfect moments of his entire life. It was a memory he clung to when he was especially sad, like he was that morning on the dock in Colorado, alone and pensive.

That had been the catalyst for their entire relationship, that moment, and those summers had been the driving force behind the home Kyle and Stan had bought on High Line Canal. They knew they wanted a home next to the water but they hadn't wanted to leave Colorado because it was all they had ever really known. And for the longest time they had been so happy, until now. Until darkness had taken over their lives and all Kyle could do was ask himself why, and how? How did they get to this place?

He sat down and dipped his feet into the water which was still so cold that he almost hissed when it lapped around his skin. After a moment, Kyle got used to it and lifted his legs, watching as the water trailed down and fell in little drops onto the surface, breaking the tension and causing ripples to fan out and fade away. He started humming a little song softly as the sun broke over the trees, and its orange radiance fell over everything and it almost felt like the whole world was going up in flames.

"What are you singing?" A soft voice asked, startling him. Kyle glanced over his shoulder, afraid but trying not to show it. Stan was standing there, and he was holding two steaming cups, dressed in pajama pants and a wrinkled red t shirt, his black hair mussed from sleep.

Kyle debated whether he should answer, but finally decided he didn't have the strength to argue or make waves.

"Kathy's Song," he murmured, turning back toward the sunrise.

"That's your sad song," Stan replied, coming over and nudging Kyle with his leg. When he looked up again, Stan handed him one of the mugs and then settled himself on the edge of the dock; his leg brushing Kyle's lightly.

Kyle took a little sip and could've cried. Stan had made him coffee just the way he liked it: extra strong with caramel almond milk and Splenda. He let the liquid linger in his mouth for a moment, and he wished more than anything that he could have his Stan back, the Stan sitting beside him who remembered exactly how he liked his coffee. He peered down into the cup and sighed, and it was full of a deep, bitter longing.

"I am sad, Stan," he finally said, taking another sip. "For obvious reasons."

Stan took a drink of his coffee too, and he looked out toward the water, the sunshine washing over his dark hair and making it blaze. He suddenly looked at sad as Kyle felt.

"I'm sorry about last night, Kyle. Really, I don't know what the fuck I was thinking, honestly." He set his cup aside and leaned back on his hands, his feet dangling in the water and disappearing in the murk. "I drank so much whiskey with Christophe and I seriously did not feel like myself, and then you were quiet the whole night, and I was worried -"

Stan broke off when he saw the look Kyle was giving him.

"No, I'm not going to make excuses. I was wrong, and I know that."

Kyle was quiet for a moment, rolling his apology over in his mind, but still hurting so badly.

"Stan, you hit me. You've never hit me before in our lives."

"I know, and I feel so bad that I feel like throwing up," Stan said, looking away. When he turned back, Kyle was surprised to see tears in his eyes. It'd been so long since he'd seen Stan cry, and he hated that this was the situation that had brought his tears to the surface.

"I just have to know, why are you acting this way? Just, why? Can't you see that things are changing, and they've been changing ever since -"

"Good morning, gentlemen," a rough voice said behind them, and Kyle could feel his hackles start to raise.

Stan looked around and smiled to see Christophe standing there. Kyle dared to look back too, and bile rose in his throat when he saw Christophe staring directly at him, a cigarette dangling from between his lips. He clutched the coffee mug between his hands and almost started to tremble.

"How'd you sleep?" Stan asked. "You're up early, man."

Christophe shrugged.

"I dreamed of Paris last night," he said, taking a drag on his cigarette.

Stan laughed.

"Dude, you always dream of Paris. It'd be more interesting if you didn't." Suddenly, he was standing and picking up his coffee mug, his hand brushing at the seat of his pants. "Hey, let's go make a huge breakfast." He reached out a hand to pull Kyle up, but Kyle waved it away.

"I'll be up in a moment," Kyle said, softly. "I just need a couple minutes to myself."

"Don't take too long, kitsune," Christophe said, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. He turned on his heel and started heading up the dock toward the house.

Kyle looked at Stan, one eyebrow raised.

"It's because of your hair," Stan said, reaching down to wind one of Kyle's curls around his finger. "He thinks it makes you look kind of like a fox."

Kyle had to resist the urge to pull away, but he couldn't bring himself to do it; Stan was just being so tender.

"That's kind of weird, Stan." He glanced up at him. "You don't think so?"

Stan shook his head

"No, I think it's kind of cute. Like you." He smiled, and Kyle's heart ached because his Stan was still in there somewhere even though he was hiding it very well. "Hey," he suddenly said, brightening a little. "I don't know what suddenly made me think of this, but remember your aunt and uncle's neighbors up at Hood?"

"Yeah, the Burgers," Kyle replied, confused. "What about them?"

"Do you remember how they had that huge orange cat, and they named it Cheese?"

Kyle finally found the ability to laugh, though it was weak.

"Yeah, Cheese Burger the cat. I remember." Now his heart was really breaking.

"Anyway, I don't know where the fuck that came from, but I always thought that was really funny." Stan turned away and started to walk up the dock, and Kyle could see Christophe waiting for him on the deck, still smoking a cigarette. Stan glanced back and his eyes lingered on Kyle's. "You'll come in soon, right? I kind of feel like having you close today."

Kyle nodded.

"I'll be there in a minute, promise."

*****

The rest of the day passed in a happy and dreamlike haze for Kyle. Stan seemed truly repentant about the events of the previous evening, and because of that seemed to want to do everything in his power to make it up to Kyle. They spent the day just spending time together, and even though Christophe's presence cast a pall over everything as usual, Kyle couldn't remember feeling happier or more content, because just for a moment it seemed like he had his Stan back. The darkness of their lives was burned away as they spent the day digging for clams, doing chores, and just generally enjoying each other's company.

Christophe joined them for a late lunch after devoting his time to chain smoking on the deck and alternating between playing solitaire and scrolling on his phone. He indulged in one too many glasses of wine and fell asleep in the afternoon sun on the deck, stretching out like a lean, long cat on one of the chairs. Kyle scowled at him momentarily but decided to focus on Stan, and was even able to muster up enough of an appetite to eat a relatively large lunch: a turkey burger and a caprese salad that he washed down with a few glasses of pinot gris. By the end, he wasn't sure if he was tipsy off the alcohol or because Stan was being so sweet and attentive.

"Did you want to go for a swim?" Stan asked, setting his fork down and smiling boyishly. Kyle couldn't help but find him so handsome and dear in that moment, and he happily nodded, setting his wine glass aside.

After they quickly pulled on their swim shoes they ran down to the water like two kids, laughing and splashing as they sank deeper into its depths. Kyle gasped at how cold it was, but soon Stan was gathering him into his arms and holding him close, and any thoughts he had about the water's temperature were gone when Stan's lips found his own. Pretty soon they were kissing deeply, their tongues meeting and sliding over one another, creating a frantic heat that left Kyle breathless.

Stan's hands trailed over Kyle's back, and they hung suspended in a hug that seemed to wipe away all the fear and pain of the previous months, and suddenly Kyle felt safe enough to ask a question that had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for the entire day. He pulled back and looked into Stan's eyes, and their cobalt blue was radiant in the light of the dying sun.

"Why did you stop last night?" He asked, softly, and Kyle dared to let his mind travel back to the events of the previous evening.

After Stan had slapped him the second time and he'd been laying on the floor, trembling and consumed with terror, Kyle had heard him conferring with Christophe but in his dazed state Kyle hadn't been able to make out their words. He hadn't really been aware of anything until Stan was hefting him into his arms and carrying him up the stairs to their bedroom, where he'd laid Kyle on the bed. Kyle had pushed himself back against the headboard and had clutched a pillow to his chest, just staring at Stan with wide eyes as Stan stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his labored breathing ragged.

Christophe had stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall, his expression impassive but his dark eyes focused directly on Kyle. Kyle had continued to cry until he was sobbing and he was pleading with Stan to come to his senses and stop, just stop, until his voice was hoarse. He remembered the terror sweat that had washed over him, and it had dripped down his back until he had felt like he was swimming in it; literally swimming in his own fear.

Kyle didn't know what he finally said that brought Stan back around, but his face had changed, and all of a sudden he'd almost looked like himself again. He'd covered his face with his hands and when he'd pulled them away, Kyle's Stan was back, and the monster that had taken up residence for a moment had receded into the shadows. Stan had given Kyle one last look, and it was a mixture of fury and misery before he'd barked at Christophe that he needed another fucking drink, and he was stalking out of the room when Christophe had moved aside.

He'd continued to tremble on the bed, holding the pillow to his chest like it was the only thing keeping him grounded in reality, but when Kyle had dared look up Christophe was still standing there watching him, and his eyes were colder than Kyle could ever remember them being. They were like twin wastelands in the landscape of Christophe's face, and although Kyle's heartbeat had started to slow down just a little, that look was enough to make it skyrocket again, and he almost gasped as the breath was torn from his chest. He'd never seen a look of such deep seated malice in his entire life. It was in that moment that Kenny's face was prominent in Kyle's mind, and he desperately wished that he were there to brush away his tears and sooth Kyle's aching cheek.

Stan's hands on his face were enough to bring him back to the present, and he broke from his memories as they floated there in the water and clung to one another. Stan tipped Kyle's face upward and kissed his lips softly, and his face was so sad that Kyle almost regretted asking the question in the first place.

"I guess I came to my senses, Kyle, and I just couldn't believe what I was about to do," Stan said, and he was leaving little kisses along Kyle's jawline, making him melt even in the icy waters.

Kyle moaned as Stan dropped a kiss on his shoulder, but something about Stan's answer still disturbed him. He pulled back and looked into Stan's face, suddenly shy and a little afraid again.

"What were you going to do?" He almost whispered.

Stan's eyes darkened and his hands tightened on Kyle's waist as they continued to tread water.

"Please don't make me talk about this anymore, okay? Please. It's killing me that I hit you, Kyle; that I hurt you. Can't we just leave all of this alone and move forward?"

Kyle looked away, not sure if he could be okay with his request, but suddenly a hand was lifting his chin and Stan's lips were brushing over his own. At first they were soft but then they became aggressive, and Kyle was opening his mouth and letting Stan's tongue delve inside, where an intense, wet heat flourished, and he was falling into the sensation of being kissed like that again; the thought almost making him swoon. Before long, Stan's hands were tangled up in Kyle's hair, and he was pulling him close enough that Kyle could feel his rapid heartbeat.

"Let's go upstairs," Stan said between breathless kisses, and Kyle was nodding, allowing himself to be led to the shore and out of the water.

Moments later they were in bed, their naked bodies still cold but growing warmer as Stan lay on top of Kyle, his mouth traveling over every inch of Kyle's skin that he could reach. His tongue lapped at his neck, his throat, his chest, and Kyle could only moan and arch into Stan's frantic need, and he grew warm as Stan's hands touched him everywhere he yearned to be touched. It had been so long since Stan had held him like this, kissed him like this, and he didn't realize that he'd needed this so much until Stan's slick fingers were delving inside of Kyle and preparing him for more.

Stan kissed Kyle's gasping mouth as he slid into him, and Kyle threw his head back when Stan was buried in him all the way, and Stan's hot tongue found his pulse and swirled there, setting him on fire. Kyle wound his legs around Stan's back and urged him on as he started to thrust, and the moment was so full of a pleasurable, all-consuming beauty that Kyle thought he was going to completely lose himself before too long.

"Yes, Stan, oh please, please, please," he said with every pulse of Stan's cock, and a line of drool was coursing down Kyle's mouth and falling onto the pillow, his hands clenching up on the counterpane beneath him. "God, please, just keep going. Don't stop, please, oh please...."

Through his haze Kyle felt like something was off though, and as Stan continued to plunge inside of him, he managed to lift his head and what he saw made his blood run cold. Christophe was standing in the doorway watching them, an ever present cigarette clenched between his teeth. He smiled as Kyle's eyes locked with his own, and while his eyes lacked the coldness from the night before, Kyle was still terrified and pushing Stan away.

"Stan, Christophe, he -"

Stan glanced over his shoulder, but when he saw Christophe standing there he didn't seem too concerned. Instead, he turned back to Kyle and continued to leisurely fuck him, his mouth coming to settle on the hollow of Kyle's throat. Kyle could only tense up further, and he winced when he could feel the tension making it so he clenched around Stan's still throbbing cock.

"Stan, stop. I can't do this while Christophe watches," he said, and he was still trying to push Stan away.

Stan's hips continued to roll in slow, agonizing pulses, and he drew back to look down into Kyle's eyes.

"Shh, relax, Kyle. It's okay. I told Christophe he could watch us the next time we fucked." He nipped at Kyle's neck and continued to thrust, his movements quickening a little now.

Kyle was horrified, and now he was really trying to push Stan off him, while Christophe just continued to stand there and watch, his eyes hungry and full of a deeply unsettling desire. Kyle started to scream, and he could feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"No! Stop! I don't want to do this! I can't do this!" Kyle sobbed, and he was trying to sit up. Stan merely pushed him back down, but this time he took hold of Kyle's wrists, and he pinned him to the bed as he continued to fuck him. The moist sound of his cock delving inside of Kyle filled the room as Kyle continued to cry and protest.

"Baby, baby, it's okay," Stan murmured while still holding Kyle's wrists so hard they ached. "He isn't going to join in this time, so just calm down." He picked up his pace now, and he was slamming into Kyle so hard that he whimpered, his face turned away on the pillow.

"Please, Stan. Please," he cried, and his tears were soaking the pillow case beneath his cheek, but Stan kept going, and his lips on Kyle's throat were suddenly as cold as the canal waters lapping at the shore outside; waters that were quickly darkening as the sun dropped toward the horizon.


End file.
